


With Tears in My Eyes

by Dexterous_Sinistrous



Series: And With One Kiss [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt Stiles, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Minor Braeden/Derek Hale, Panic Attacks, Past Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate, Pining, Post-Nogitsune, Post-Season/Series 04, Post-Season/Series 04 Finale, Relationship(s), Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Slow Burn Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Soulmates, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Unresolved Emotional Tension, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-17 01:14:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 55,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3509687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexterous_Sinistrous/pseuds/Dexterous_Sinistrous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinski never thought much about his relationship with Derek Hale. He didn't have to because Derek was always there for him. That is, until Braeden entered the picture. Derek seems happy, and Stiles takes comfort knowing that the broody werewolf is less broody.</p><p>Stiles, however, is hit full force by his feelings when Derek is injured at La Iglesia. He realizes then, that everything he has felt for Derek is more than what he originally thought. He struggles with coming to terms with them, and finally, with the advise of Scott, takes the first step to doing something about it.</p><p>With fear and hope guiding him, Stiles tries to tell Derek the truth. But nobody said love was going to be easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Someone commented about how this is Sterek in the Draeden tag, and I wanted to just address this upfront, so everyone going in to reading this would be aware. I am not placing this fic in the Draeden tag without reason. There is Draeden in it, as well as Sterek. I would NEVER misplace something in another ship's tag to try and start something/bash another ship. I think every ship is a wonderful thing in its own right and that it is a fan's right to have/love that ship. Braeden is one of my favorite 'new' characters on Teen Wolf, and I think she kind of got cheated a bit by being shoehorned into a romantic plot, because I would like to see more of her story without it being a byproduct, but that's just my two-cents. There will be absolutely NO Braeden bashing in this fic, or by me in any other fic. I would never bash a character for simply existing and being in a relationship with another character.
> 
> This fic is exploring the nature of 'What happens when you fall in love with someone who is already with someone else?' There will be ups and downs for both ships. If people have a huge problem with those tags, I am sorry, but I don't know how to tag them otherwise.

Stiles felt the air escape from his lungs. He felt his entire body moving in slow motion as he scrambled to exit the van. He heard the sound of Derek’s body slamming into the rock before he could even register what was happening. He caught a glimpse of Peter running from the other car to move to Derek’s aid. He knew it was worse than he thought when he saw the concern plastered on Peter’s face. _Peter actually looks … scared_ , he thought, not wanting to look at Derek for fear that is was worse than he imagined.

Something in Stiles’ body forced him to jump from the van and look at Derek. _He’s moving, he’d not dead_ , a small voice in the back of his brain tried to reassure him. It was Derek’s inability to stand that caused the knot in Stiles’ stomach to churn and tighten.

Without thinking, Stiles’ feet moved him towards Derek. He stopped when Braeden beat him to Derek’s side. He stood there, not knowing what to do as he watched Braeden inspect Derek’s chest.

Even in just the moonlight, Stiles could see the blood on Derek, the way his face winced under the pain. _He’s not going to heal. He’s not going to heal_. He continued to repeat the mantra as he tried to search his brain for something, _anything_ he read that would trigger fast healing in a humanbody.

“How bad is it?” Peter finally asked the question everyone else was dying to ask.

“I’m fine! I’m fine! Just get to Scott!” Derek continued to pant, unable to catch his breath as he struggled against the pain. “Just find him. We’ll be right behind you. Go. Go!”

Peter looked hesitant to leave, his eyebrows furrowed with worry, but he finally turned to run off into the church. Malia looked at Liam before running off after Peter, Liam following suit right behind her. Stiles looked after them, his feet still refusing to move.

“Hey, hey,” Derek’s voice was soft but still caught Stiles’ attention, making him look back at him. “Save him,” he nodded, an unspoken plea with Stiles to not argue with him for once.

Stiles looked shocked, the reality of what Derek was telling him started to sink in. He wanted to argue, to tell Derek he was an idiot if he thought he was going to leave him to die. But then he realized what Derek was actually doing. Derek was letting Stiles go after Scott, without suffering from the guilt of having to choose. He tried to speak, his voice lodged in his throat as he struggled to find the words. _Because how do you tell someone like Derek Hale you can’t leave him to die because you actually care for him? How do you say thank you for everything you’ve done, but I’m not going to leave you now?_

Stiles’ feet pushed him back, making him move towards the church. He could barely register what was happening, but he was leaving Derek behind. And he felt sick at the thought of it. He turned and started to follow the others, knowing that he had to try and rescue Scott. But part of Stiles screamed at him to turn around and go back to Derek.

 _This is it. This is the last time you see him. Tell him. Tell him everything,_ the voice urged. Stiles’ feet hesitated, bringing him to a complete stop. He looked over his shoulder to see Derek wincing as Braeden tried to help him. Suddenly, it was like everything was falling into place. All the times Derek had thrown himself in harm's way to protect Stiles. It was more than just saving his life. Derek protected him when they were nothing more than acquaintances, telling him to get out of the way when Peter revealed himself as the Alpha. The way he shoved him back when the kanima revealed itself at the pool. The way he roared Isaac into submission when he made a move to attack him. The way he chose to believe him over Ms. Blake.

Time and time again, Derek had chosen to protect Stiles, and it wasn’t until now that he realized he did it one last time. _Derek exited the van first. He climbed over me to get out first_ , Stiles thought.

A tightness formed in Stiles’ chest as he thought about Derek dying. If Derek died, he would lose the ability to confess what was gnawing at the back of his mind for months. Since the Nogitsune let him label the chessboard, using him to lore his friends into a place that held meaning to him.

‘ _Tell us, Stiles, who is it?_ ’ _I don’t know who you’re talking about! ‘Who is it, Stiles?’ I don’t know! ‘Who will die for you?!’ Derek!_

Stiles couldn’t remember why he yelled Derek’s name, but he was all he could think about the more the Nogitsune questioned him. He could feel the Nogitsune smile as it placed Derek’s name on the King, placing him one move from checkmate. It wasn’t a message to his friends, but a message to Stiles. The Nogitsune was telling him who was next to die; that Derek was next on the list, because he was most willing to die for Stiles. _Because how to you defeat someone in war? You take away their hope of living._ Stiles didn’t realize it then, but the Nogitsune was taking his hope of living away. If the Nogitsune took away the people who mattered most, Stiles would gladly cave to the Nogitsune’s complete control. _It was winning because I care … Because I care about Derek. Because Derek’s my King._

Stiles’ fear fluctuated at his realization. He cared about Derek more than anyone else, because through all their misunderstandings, all their fights, all their attempts to protect one another, they found an understanding. They found equal footing with one another and created a bond that they both didn’t understand. Stiles fell for Derek without even realizing it, and now he was losing him.

Stiles forced himself to turn away from Derek, running after the others as he repeated a continuous prayer. _Please don’t die, Derek. I need you. I need you._ He could only hope that once he saved Scott, he could somehow save Derek. He made a vow, that if both of them made it out of this, he would find a way to tell Derek.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Weeks passed since the incident at La Iglesia, and Stiles couldn’t find the courage to tell Derek the truth. Instead, he stared at Derek during the pack meetings Scott forced him to go to. He stared in awe and confusion as he tried to figure out a way to tell Derek without somehow offending him. It often resulted in Derek raising an eyebrow at Stiles when he caught him staring before Stiles offered a shy smile, excusing himself with the excuse of having other plans.

That was how Stiles found himself laying on his bed with Scott beside him. He was thankful Scott remained silent as Stiles thought out a way to tell him about Derek. Scott somehow always knew when to keep quiet when Stiles needed him to.

“I broke up with Malia,” Stiles finally stated as he stared up at his ceiling.

“Woah, really?” Scott asked, slightly shifting his body next to Stiles. Stiles could tell he was concerned, but he was positive Scott was not surprised.

“Yeah. She said that she understood, but I don’t think she did. She tried climbing through my window last night,” Stiles forced himself to sit up.

“Maybe she just misses the contact,” Scott offered.

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed as he stood.

“Are you alright?” Scott questioned as he sat up, watching Stiles closely.

“Yeah … No,” Stiles ran a hand through his hair as he spoke. “I’m having trouble with coming to terms with something. Ever since we got back from Mexico,” he explained.

“Okay,” Scott replied.

“Okay,” Stiles echoed Scott.

“Dude, whatever it is, I’m still going to be your friend,” Scott explained. “I still got your back.”

“IthinkIlikeDerek,” Stiles rushed to say it all at once that he wasn’t sure if he actually made any sense.

“Dude, I heard ‘think’ and ‘Derek’,” Scott explained.

“I _think_ I … like _Derek_ ,” Stiles stated, avoiding eye contact with Scott.

“Okay,” Scott’s eyebrows climbed towards his hairline, waiting for Stiles to continue.

“And that’s it. I think I like him,” Stiles stated once more.

“That’s it?” Scott echoed. “That’s what you are freaking out about?”

“Scott, I’m not talking about liking as a friend, I’m talking about … About what Lydia used to be,” Stiles waited for Scott to respond. “Malia even.”

“That bad, huh?” Scott replied.

“Why are you not freaking out about this?” Stiles questioned as he faced Scott.

“Honestly?” Scott started as he leaned on his knees. “I could tell you were attracted to him, but I just figured that was because it’s Derek. But then you guys just sort of …” he shrugged. “I don’t know, you just mesh together. You two complement each other like other people don’t. I’ve been waiting for one of you to make a move.”

“And you didn’t tell me this, why?” Stiles asked, insulted that Scott noticed this before he did.

“Would you have believed me?” Scott questioned. “You would have laughed me off and I would have let you.”

“Right,” Stiles nodded his head as he spoke.

“So, what happened?” Scott shifted slightly.

“What?”

“What did he say?”

“Well, that’s it, Scott. I haven’t told him that I like him. Hell, I haven’t even kissed him,” Stiles was trying to keep his heart rate down; trying to suppress the panic attack that rose in his chest. “But you know what scares me? I know, in my head, that even though he wouldn’t be my first kiss, he’d be the one that mattered. And what if he is the one that makes me realize I don’t want to kiss anyone else?” he questioned as he continued to pace. “Scott, I can’t get him out of my head. And if he tells me he hates me … If he rejects me, that will ruin me.”

“You love him?” Scott plainly questioned.

“Oh God,” Stiles sharply turned to face him. “What if I do? What do I do?”

“Tell him?” Scott shrugged in uncertainty. “I mean, it’s Derek. How bad of a response could it be?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, staring at Scott in silence. “Seriously?”

Scott put his hands up in a placate manner. “What?”

“It’s _Derek Hale_. He could _murder_ me.”

“I think you’re exaggerating. He’s been a lot nicer since Mexico,” Scott stated. “He may be kind of intimidating and scary, but do you think he would reject someone telling him that they cared about him? Especially you. To be honest, I’m surprised you haven’t come to this conclusion faster.”

“What?” Stiles looked at Scott incredulously.

“Stiles,” Scott stated his name in exasperation. “Derek cares about you. Like, _cares_ about you. He places your safety above everyone else. He’s placed you above his own safety. Haven’t you noticed that he doesn’t intimidate you anymore?”

“Last time I checked, he punched my hand pretty hard,” Stiles silently recalled.

“Dude, you were being a cocky ass, and he did that to prove to you that you shouldn’t go,” Scott stated as he started to stand, placing his hands in his pockets.

“What?”

“Stiles, as a pack, we fight better together, right?” Scott started, waiting for Stiles to nod before continuing. “However, when our minds are concentrated on other members, we don’t fight at our best.” He arched his eyebrows, leaning his head forward as he tried to pry his point out of Stiles.

“Dude, are you saying I’m a distraction?” Stiles questioned.

“For the smart one, you’re an idiot,” Scott stated. “I’m saying that for Derek, you _are_ a distraction because he is more concerned about your safety than his own and the rest of the pack!”

Stiles was stunned into silence as he watched Scott, uncertain how to process what he just confessed.

“Think about all the times Derek has saved your life,” Scott stated. “How many times, as an Alpha, did he ignore his Betas in favor of you?”

“I … He did protect me from the kanima instead of Erica,” Stiles admitted.

“Yeah,” Scott sighed. “I was never going to tell you this, but … If it helps you with dealing with Derek and your emotions,” he shrugged. “When you went missing … I couldn’t track you,” he admitted in defeat. “Nobody could besides Derek. He was the one that knew your scent. The one that tracked you down at the hospital and somehow _knew_ that you were having a struggle with something inside you. He knew all of that from your scent alone. It was like he knew your scent like I knew Allison’s.” He watched Stiles wring his hands in worry as he listened to him. “Dude, I’m pretty sure you’re his anchor.”

“Come on, Scott. You know it is anger for him,” Stiles stated.

“Anger, or you?” Scott replied. “Because no one drives him up the fucking wall like you do. Stiles,” he placed his hand on Stiles’ shoulder to try and reassure him. “I don’t know what will happen if you talk to him, but not talking to him is worse. And I know for a fact, that he doesn’t look at anyone else the way he looks at you, and that means something. I don’t know how to explain it, but I think you—of all people—keep him grounded. You give him something no one else does; something that his human side holds on to.”

Stiles turned to face Scott, looking at him for an answer. He wanted someone to tell him what to do so he could blame them if it didn’t work out. He felt like he was going insane the past week, dodging pack meetings and the loft like they were quarantine zones, all in an attempt to avoid confronting his feelings. From confronting Derek.

“Derek stayed with me in the waiting room for you when you were getting the MRI. He jumpstarted your jeep. He spent two days, by himself, trying to find you when you went missing,” Scott explained. “He cares about you Stiles. And you care about him.”

Stiles looked down at his hands, unable to respond to Scott’s comments. He wanted to believe that he was as important to Derek as Derek was to him. But he couldn’t be certain that Derek actually cared about him in that way.

“Malia told me what happened,” Scott added. He could feel Stiles’ body become rigid at the mention of her name. “What happened when you reached La Iglesia. She said that she was surprised how immobilized you were when Derek got attacked.”

“I felt like I couldn’t breathe,” Stiles admitted. “I was scared he was going to die. I _knew_ he was going to die. But all I wanted to do was tell him … Tell him everything I felt. I wanted to yell at him. Tell him it was his fault this was happening to him. That if he just stopped this … If he just stopped throwing himself into danger. That I’m afraid to lose him.”

“Then tell him that now,” Scott offered. “Tell him before it’s too late, Stiles.”

And _that_ was how—Stiles rationalizes it—he came to be standing in front of Derek’s loft door. He sighed before he grasped the handle, yanking the door open. It felt heavier than its normal weight, giving way to his force as its wheels yawned noisily. He peered around the entrance before taking a step inside. The pounding of his heart was enough of an introduction, knowing that Derek would be able to hear it. He busied himself with closing the door, an attempt to distract himself from what he was coming here to tell Derek.

“Stiles?”

Stiles’ grip on the door handle tightened when he registered whom the voice belonged to. He refused to turn around, afraid at what he would find. He wasn’t stupid, and knew that just because he missed the pack meetings didn’t mean that _she_ stopped existing. That _she_ was no longer in the picture. He forced himself to smile as he turned around to face her.

“Hey, Braeden,” Stiles greeted her.

“Hey,” Braeden replied, arching her eyebrow.

 _She totally didn’t buy that sincerity_ , Stiles thought as he tried to look anywhere else in the loft but at her.

“What’s up?” Braeden asked.

“Is Derek here?” Stiles inquired, dodging the answer to Braeden’s question.

“He’s in the shower,” Braeden replied. She started to move towards the kitchen. “You want some coffee?”

“No thanks,” Stiles replied. _I should have knocked. I should have texted. I should have asked Scott to come run interception_. His mind continued to race. “Actually, maybe some tea?” _Anything to preoccupy me from answering your questions_.

“Sure,” Braeden replied with a smile. She moved around the kitchen, preparing everything as she allowed Stiles to remain in silence.

Stiles moved to sit on the armrest of the couch, uncertain what he was exactly doing, sitting down and letting Braeden make him something to drink. _You should run. You should get the hell out of here. Just walk out the door and leave them to their life. Don’t embarrass yourself._ He was staring at his hands as he tried to think of a way that wouldn’t end in embarrassment for all involved. _How do you tell someone, who is in a relationship with a kickass, gorgeous woman, that you have feelings for them?_

That is when it suddenly struck Stiles. _Oh God, Derek’s in the shower._ His head snapped up when he remembered a fact he thought wasn’t important. He turned to look at Braeden, his stomach churning when he noted that her hair was wet.The last thing Stiles wanted to think about was Derek taking a shower with Braeden, with anyone. _Oh my God, I have to leave. Now_. He abruptly stood, turning his body to head for the door when Braeden was suddenly in front of him, holding two mugs.

Braeden held out a steaming mug, offering it to him with a small smile. She waited for Stiles to take the mug before gently moving to his other side, sitting on the couch.

“You want to talk about something?” Braeden asked, breaking the silence as she set her mug down on the coffee table.

Stiles remained standing, cradling his mug of tea in his hands, ignoring the burning sensation of the mug’s warmed glass. “I need to talk to Derek about a few things,” he sheepishly explained, staring down at the dark tea. He could tell Braeden didn’t put any honey in it. And how would she know? Derek made the drinks during pack meetings, and he always made sure to put the right amount of honey in Stiles’ tea, even if he liked to argue with Stiles that it was a waste. ‘ _You should just be drinking pure honey at this rate_.’

Stiles wasn’t sure why, but his throat started to close, a lump forcing its way up. He felt the tears stinging his eyes as he thought about how Derek always did little things like that for him. Stupid things that he took for granted as Derek being Derek, but he never once thought about how their lives would change the minute they started seeing people. _Other people_.

“Stiles? Are you okay?” Braeden asked, sitting forward. The concern in her voice sounded sincere, making Stiles release a built up sob, although he was positive it emerged as a sad laugh. He was here to try and ruin her relationship with Derek, and _she_ was concerned about _him_. She couldn’t make it easier for him by being a horrible person, could she? She actually had to be decent and caring about Derek and the rest of the pack. _Why can’t you make it easier for me to try and ruin your life?_

Stiles set down the mug, standing up straight before he could finally speak. “I should go,” his voice was almost in inaudible whisper. “I shouldn’t have dropped by unannounced.”

“It’s fine,” Braeden said reassuringly as she stood, trying to calm Stiles.

 _No, no it’s not_ , Stiles reasoned. He had to leave before he really had a break down over something besides the absence of stupid honey in his tea. He began to turn, offering his apologies as he started to walk towards the door. _Stupid, I’m so stupid._

“Stiles?” The one voice Stiles didn’t want to hear called his name.

Stiles froze when he heard Derek’s voice. It was soft and concerned, as concerned as Derek would often be whenever he spoke to Stiles. _Always concerned for the fragile human_. He looked behind him to see Derek standing partially on the spiral staircase. He was surprised he didn’t hear him coming down the old metal steps. He wanted to curse his timing as he took in the site of a post-showered Derek. _Damn him for being so attractive_.

Derek was wearing sweatpants that hugged his hips perfectly, resting low enough that Stiles could make out the muscles there. The tank top clung to his torso, his body still damp from the shower he just took. His hair was somewhat tussled, no doubt from rubbing a towel over it before running his hands through it. Stiles knew he had it bad when he thought about what he would give to be able to run his fingers through that hair.

It was the look of concern on Derek’s face that froze Stiles to his spot near the couch. _I come over and barge into their place, and they are both concerned about me_ , Stiles reasoned. He released the small, pathetic laugh as he shook his head. _I need to get out of here. I need to get out. Do what I’m good at and be alone_.

“I just … ” Stiles couldn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t know what to say that would excuse him.

“He came to talk to you,” Braeden unfortunately finished his sentence for him.

 _Now I can’t run_ , Stiles winced as he ran his hand through his hair.

“Okay,” Derek nodded before he started to thankfully make his way over to the kitchen.

Stiles let his fingers idly play with the fabric of his plaid shirt, uncertain what he was going to do now that Derek knew he was here to speak with him. _I can’t just confess to him. Especially in front of Braeden_.

Derek looked at ease as he walked back towards the couch, a mug of coffee in his hand as he came to sit next to Braeden. He gently set a small container next to Stiles’ tea, offering a small smile to Stiles as he leaned back.

Stiles looked at the container, and a feeling panged through him in a sharp wave when he realized it was honey. _Stabbing me in the face would have been kinder you big stupidly perfect idiot_ , he thought as he sat down in the chair adjacent to the couch. He slowly started pouring the honey into his tea, focusing on the liquid in an attempt to ignore how close Derek and Braeden were sitting.

“That’s a lot of honey,” Braeden mused, smiling as she sipped her coffee.

“Stiles has a sweet tooth,” Derek replied.

Stiles felt grateful that Derek didn’t go into depth explaining his stupid need for honey in his tea. He always thought it was pathetic that he couldn’t even move on to having no honey in his tea. Whenever he was sick or feeling down, his mother always brought him a cup of tea with enough honey in it to make him smile as he gulped down the beverage. He liked having the honey because it made him remember his mom, made him feel closer to her. He never told anyone about it, until Derek asked him why he needed that much honey. ‘ _If I’m financing your honey addiction, I want to know why_.’ From that point on, as far as Stiles knew, Derek always had honey in the loft.

“So, what is happening?” Derek finally asked, breaking Stiles’ thoughts from his tea.

“Um, I just didn’t get to talk to you about what happened at La Iglesia,” Stiles somewhat dodged the question.

“Yeah,” Derek sighed, sitting forward some. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

Stiles released a small laugh. “Me? Scared? I was just mad that you stole my self sacrificing thunder,” he looked up to see a faint smile grace Derek’s features.

“Sorry about that,” Derek joked back.

“Yeah, you better be. I was supposed to get out of that van first,” Stiles ran his hands over his mug, tapping his fingers nervously when he felt Derek’s eyes on him.

“I’m glad I got out first,” Derek stated.

Stiles heartbeat sped up, and for a moment, it was as if Braeden wasn’t there. It was like Derek and Stiles were the only ones in the room—in the world—and they were sharing a private moment. _A moment of us_ , he thought as he looked up at Derek. He felt as if he was looking at Derek for the first time, now that he was looking at him through a new understanding. _How could I not notice how gone on him I am? My God, how long have I felt this way without knowing?_

“We were lucky,” Braeden’s voice broke the moment, almost making Stiles groan in protest as he turned back to his tea.

“Right,” Stiles’ throat was dry as he tried to speak.

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?” Derek finally asked, pulling Stiles back to the moment.

For the first time, Stiles was glad he wasn’t a werewolf. He was glad he couldn’t smell the scent of sex on them. He was glad he couldn’t sense the attraction. He felt his stomach clenching, a knot in his chest the longer he thought about it. He felt the tears prickling his eyes, threatening to spill over. He would give anything to have Derek look at him like that, and part of him was positive there was a time when Derek _did_ look at him like that.

“Uh, yeah. I uh,” Stiles stuttered, placing his mug down on the coffee table as he stood. “I have to go,” he finally stated. He moved towards the door, stumbling as he tried to move faster than his legs would allow. He thought he heard Derek call his name, but he couldn’t stay there. He couldn’t talk to Derek when Braeden was sitting next to him. He couldn’t keep thinking about Derek when he knew nothing would ever come out of his crush. His mind raced as he jumped into his jeep, driving in silence as the scenery flashed by his windows, the moonlight bouncing off the hood.

Stiles wasn’t even certain if he turned the engine off as he tumbled out of the jeep. He moved as quickly as he could, his feet stumbling as he moved his way up the familiar lawn and straight to the door. He could barely think as his fist pounded against the door, begging that someone answer.

“Coming!” Scott’s voice called as he hurried down the stairs. “I thought you said you were going to be late.” He stated as he pulled open the door. Stiles must have looked how he felt, because the minute Scott saw him his smile faded. “Stiles? What happened?” Scott’s voice was filled with concern as he stepped into the doorway.

“I … I couldn’t … I was going to, Scotty, but I … She was there, and I just couldn’t do it,” Stiles began to ramble. “He smiled at her and I just couldn’t tell him.” He rubbed his hands over his face as the hot tears started to run down his face. “He’s happy. He’s happy and it’s killing me that it’s not with me.”

Scott didn’t hesitate, pulling Stiles into a hug, wrapping his arms around him tight enough to guarantee that he wouldn’t fall when his knees suddenly gave way. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Stiles,” he stated into his hair.

Stiles buried his fingers into the back of Scott’s shirt, the sobs starting to rake his body as he let everything go. “I screwed up,” he spoke into Scott’s shoulder. “I screwed up so bad. He’s happy with someone else. I should want him to be happy, shouldn’t I?” He let another sob go as Scott gently rubbed his back in a comforting manner.

“You care about him,” Scott explained.

“Oh God,” Stiles finally cried. “I love him. I really love him,” he closed his eyes as he pressed his face further into Scott’s shoulder, an attempt to hide from his late revelation. He let Scott guide him into the house, taking him upstairs to his room. He was thankful that Scott merely let him curl up on his bed, gently rubbing his back in a comforting manner as the sobs started to die out from his body.

Stiles wasn’t certain when he fell asleep, but he woke to the sound of Scott’s hushed voice speaking on the phone.

“He’s here with me,” Scott stated. “What do you want me to say? Is he upset? Yes.” There was a pregnant pause before Scott continued. “He didn’t say why,” he sternly replied, and Stiles hoped to God that the person on the phone believed him. “I’m trying to handle it, Derek.”

_Please, God, please don’t let him know Scott was lying._

“No, I don’t think seeing you would be a good idea right now,” Scott replied. “Whatever it is that’s bothering him, we’ll fix it. Okay?” Another pregnant pause. “Yeah. Alright. I’ll call you later. Bye.”

Stiles sat up as Scott walked back into the room. He curled his legs up against his chest, securing his knees under his chin as he avoided making eye contact with Scott. "What did you tell him?" He asked as he picked at the blanket.

"Nothing," Scott stated as he set his phone down on his desk. "He called me because he was worried about you."

Stiles merely mouthed 'Oh,' as he kept his eyes focused on the floor.

"He said you just ran out of the loft and didn't look back."

"I told you I panicked," Stiles offered a low, empty laugh. "I'm not good with social situations."

"Stiles," Scott gently said his name.

"Please don't tell me I have to talk to him," Stiles nearly begged. "Please, Scott."

"I'm not. But you can't expect him not to try and talk to you after this. And he’ll be able to tell if you lie," Scott explained.

"Maybe I'll just become a hermit and live out in the Preserve," Stiles stated.

"Stop it. You're scaring me because you were just serious then," Scott replied, not hearing a jump in Stiles’ heartbeat.

"Being a hermit would be better than facing him," Stiles mused.

“I’ll be there with you, if you want,” Scott offered as he sat next to Stiles on the bed.

“Are you suggesting I tell him at the next pack meeting?” Stiles questioned.

“Maybe,” Scott replied. “Kira and I will run interception. Buy you time to talk with him.”

“Kira knows?” Stiles asked, hoping that maybe Scott will take the bait and stop planning out his doom.

“She knew before we did. She said that she could tell whenever you were around him,” Scott leaned back on his hands.

“Wow, I’m pathetic,” Stiles commented as he let his head hang.

“Come on dude, at least Lydia doesn’t know,” Scott stated.

“Thank God Lydia—who has nothing to do with the situation—doesn’t know,” Stiles sarcastically stated.

“Yeah, because then she would go and tell Derek herself because she wouldn’t take you running away as an answer,” Scott corrected him.

“Oh God, you’re right,” Stiles groaned.

“Look,” Scott started as he hooked his arm around Stiles’ shoulders. “Next pack meeting. We’ll get this over with. And regardless of what happens, I’ll bring you out to the Preserve and we’ll get drunk, okay?”

Stiles offered a weak laugh before nodding in agreement. He knew he had to tell Derek eventually, given that he royally messed up today. But it didn’t mean that he had to be hopeful there would be a good outcome.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles was forcing his leg to move quickly, restlessly moving up and down as he listened to Scott talking about preparing for the inevitable next attack. He bit down on his fingernails, trying to keep himself busy to prevent him from focusing on Derek as he anxiously stole glances of him.

“We don’t have money to pay you,” Scott started as he turned to Braeden. “You are a great ally to have, but I can’t ask for you help.”

Stiles was curious if Scott was trying to get rid of Braeden for his sake, almost happy about it, even if Scott was abusing his power as Alpha.

“Well, I was thinking of sticking around,” Braeden replied.

Stiles’ head jerked up, looking at Braeden. He was thankful that he wasn’t the only one staring at Braeden with a shocked expression.

“You are?” Scott asked.

“Yeah. I’ve got some good reasons to stay,” Braeden replied.

Stiles wished he missed the look she gave Derek, his heart sinking as he looked at Scott, a plea to leave.

Scott looked at Stiles, sympathetic to him, however he discreetly nodded his head towards Derek. It was a silent order for Stiles to make his move, to try and get Derek alone to talk to him. He turned the attention back to Braeden to give Stiles a chance to get Derek’s attention.

Stiles stood up, moving over to stand next to Derek. He placed his hands in his pockets as he stood next to Derek. “Hey,” he silently greeted Derek for the first time that night.

“Hey,” Derek replied, uncrossing his arms from over his chest. His shoulders were slightly hunched as he turned his body towards Stiles.

“Can I talk to you? Alone,” Stiles quickly added, not wanting to gain anyone else’s attention.

“Sure,” Derek replied, nodding before he moved to walk into the back of the loft.

Stiles stared at Derek’s back, walking slowly behind him, feeling as if he was walking to his doom. _I might be. These might be the last few moments Derek still cares about me_.

“So,” Derek started as he turned to face Stiles, confident that they were far enough from the rest of the pack for them to talk.

“About last week, I’m sorry,” Stiles started.

“It’s fine, Stiles,” Derek replied as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“No, no it’s not,” Stiles corrected him. “Everyone keeps saying it’s fine for me to act like this. It’s fine for me to feel this way. But it’s not. It’s not even fair,” he slightly mumbled to himself.

“Stiles, what is happening?” Derek questioned as he took a step forward.

“It’s been happening for a while,” Stiles confessed. “I broke up with Malia,” he started.

“I’m sorry,” Derek replied, his voice hollow, almost empty of real sympathy.

“It wasn’t fair to her,” Stiles admitted. “God, I don’t think I can do this,” he stated as he released a few heavy breaths.

“Stiles,” Derek uncrossed his arms, moving closer to Stiles. “You’re going to have a panic attack if you don’t calm down.”

“I can’t calm down, though, that’s the thing,” Stiles replied. “Not with you this close.” He wanted to wince with how harsh the words sounded once they escaped his mouth.

“ _You’re_ the one that said you wanted to talk to _me_ ,” Derek replied, his voice sounding bitter with hurt.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean … I don’t know what I mean,” Stiles finally replied.

“Look, maybe right now isn’t the best time for us to have this conversation,” Derek finally stated, turning his body to look back into the main area of the loft to catch sight of Scott still talking.

“I don’t think it can wait,” Stiles found himself speaking against his wish. _Shut up. Shut up! He’s giving you a way out. You can go back to having a silent, undiscovered crush on him_.

“Then do you want to wait for every—”

“I like you,” Stile blurted out. He sighed when he heard something drop loudly clanging on the floor. He knew it was Scott, multitasking as he lead the conversation with the pack and listened in on Stiles. _Werewolf bastard_.

“I like you more than I should. Not like with Scott, because that’s something completely different, that’s more of an unspoken brothership. But it’s different with you.” His voice trailed off as he stared down at the space in between them.

“What?” Derek’s voice was guarded and Stiles was scared that if he looked up, he would be met with an equally guarded expression.

“For a long time, I’ve liked you. I … I just like you.”

“No,” Derek finally stated, shaking his head as he spoke.

Stiles felt like the world was spinning, like he was going to fall over. His throat hurt as he swallowed the lump rising up, his stomach threatening to empty. He just hurt. Every part of him ached from some unknown force. He wanted to curl up into a ball and be forgotten, to disappear from Derek’s view. He tried to open his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t make his voice work. His mouth gaped a little, like he was a confused fish out of water.

“Why?” Stiles voice was hoarse, his mouth dry from fear that he knew the answer.

“Why?”

Stiles flinched at what he thought was mockery in Derek’s tone. He wanted to run, to pretend that this wasn’t happening. He knew this was going to happen. He knew he wasn’t good enough for Derek. He felt his stomach clench, bile threatening to rise up. His head was spinning and he was certain he was going to pass out from the rush of adrenaline coursing through his body.

“You’re seventeen, Stiles,” Derek stated.

“Wow, really? I’m so glad you were here to tell me that,” Stiles sarcastically replied, trying to hide how hurt he was. “And I’m almost eighteen.”

“You’re in high school,” Derek bitterly noted. “You just want someone to take your mind off of Malia.”

“I _broke up_ with Malia because I couldn’t stop thinking about _you_ ,” Stiles tried to keep his voice low, but he knew Malia heard him when he heard her faint gasp of surprise.

“Stiles, stop it,” Derek’s voice was stern as he spoke.

“I can’t take it back, Derek,” Stiles stated. “I don’t want to. I want … I want you,” he almost mumbled, wishing he could take the words back the minute he said them.

Derek released a scornful sigh, turning to face Stiles. “You don’t know anything about life or what you want. You haven’t even experienced the world for what it is, and you want me? You’re a kid. You’re headstrong, you say whatever you’re thinking without processing it first. You always get in danger whenever we get into a fight. You just think you like me because I’m the first person to take time out of the day to give you attention.”

“You don’t mean that … ” Stiles stated, more to convince himself that his whole world wasn’t crumbling than to challenge Derek. “You protect me …”

“I protect the pack, Stiles. I protect Scott,” Derek explained, like he was teaching a child an important life lesson. “For Scott’s sake, I have to risk my life, and lives of the pack in order to guarantee that you don’t get hurt, because Scott would crumble if anything happened to you. The pack stability would break.”

“Stop. Please,” Stiles mumbled, not wanting to hear him say it. _He’s not rejecting me … He’s humiliating me. The others can probably hear all of this._

“You wanted to talk about this,” Derek reprimanded him, his voice holding no anger, only—what Stiles could identify as—annoyance. “I’m sorry you don’t like the answer. You can’t just throw something on someone and get upset when you don’t get the answer you want. You’re just a kid who convinced himself he wanted me because he can’t have me.”

Stiles was staring at the ground, not looking at Derek, because he couldn’t. He couldn’t look at him, not when he hated him. He needed to get home. He needed to hide under his blankets and forget that Derek Hale ever existed. He could have walked out to face everyone if Derek _just_ rejected him. If Derek only told him that he wasn’t interested in him that way. If he gently told him that they’d still be friends. Still be pack. He would be okay … wouldn’t he? But he didn’t have that luxury. He disgusted Derek enough that he saw fit to tear his whole fucking world apart.

Stiles head was spinning and he felt the panic rise in his chest. _Scott … I need Scott._ His brain latched on to the mental image of Scott standing by the couch. He just had to make it to Scott and he’d drag him out of here. He’d let him run away like a coward and even help him hide.

Stiles was finally able to turn his body, taking the first few heavy steps to make his way away from Derek and back to the pack. He thought he mumbled an apology, but he couldn’t be sure. His feet were moving fast enough that he was back in the living room before he knew it. He felt everyone’s eyes on him, telling him that they all heard it. They all knew he liked Derek and that Derek degraded him because of it. He ignored Lydia’s comforting gesture to place a hand on his shoulder as he made a straight shot for Scott.

“I—Can we …” He couldn’t speak any more, afraid that he would cry if he said one more thing.

“Meeting’s over,” Scott announced as he grabbed Stiles’ arm, walking him out of the loft. “I’ll be right out.” He whispered in a small grumble to Stiles as he moved to walk back in.

“Scott, don’t,” Stiles weakly begged as he grabbed Scott’s arm, not wanting him to make a bigger scene of it.

“He deserves—” a loud smack cut off Scott’s words causing him and Stiles to look at the rest of the pack.

Derek must have followed Stiles back into the living room without him knowing. Lydia was standing in front of Derek, her hand poised in a post-slapping position, Derek’s head turned away from her. He made no move to correct himself as he let Lydia glare daggers into him.

“How dare you,” Lydia stated before turning on her heel, marching towards Scott and Stiles. She said nothing to them as she wrapped an arm around one of Stiles’, pulling him after her to drag him down to the jeep.

Scott glared back at Derek before shaking his head, heading out to follow Lydia and Stiles, Kira apologizing before following close behind him. He was worried when he saw Stiles sitting next to his jeep, his body pressed against the front wheel as his breaths came in quick gasps.

“Stiles, please stay awake,” Lydia stated as she held his head in her hands. “Come on, he’s not worth it. You need to calm your breathing.”

“I can’t—” A sharp sob cut off Stiles’ words as he gasped for breath, feeling like his lungs were filling with water, suffocating him with the pain of rejection. He wanted to cry out in frustration. He couldn’t even walk out of the loft without falling apart. He couldn’t walk away with his dignity intact. His knees were tucked in hard against his chest; his fingers clasped the fabric of shirtsleeves as he tried to hold on to something real.

“Stiles,” Scott ran over to him, kneeling beside him as he placed a hand on his shoulder. “Stiles, listen to me. Listen to my voice, okay?” He started to instruct him. “I need you to slow your breathing. I need you to breath with me,” he explained, pulling one of Stiles’ hands from him, pressing it against his chest. “You feel my heartbeat and my breathing? Try to match it.”

“I—”

“Don’t talk, Stiles,” Lydia demanded. “Just listen to Scott.”

It took Stiles several minutes before he began to calm down, slowly getting his breathing to match Scott’s. Stiles finally nodded to Scott, trying to convey that the attack had passed. He let Scott wrap his arms around him as he helped him to stand, directing him into the jeep. He curled up in the back seat, thankful for the familiar smell of Lydia’s perfume as she climbed in next to him.

Lydia gently rubbed Stiles’ back, letting the silent understanding between them comfort him. She handed the keys to Scott as he climbed in the driver’s seat. Kira looked back at Stiles from the passenger seat, reaching her hand back to gently touch his knee in a comforting manner.

Minutes passed in silence, only the sound of the radio playing surprisingly depressing breakup music in the background.

“Taylor Swift would be less painful than this,” Stiles noted.

Scott gave a little chuckle, glad that Stiles was talking, before changing the station to some rock station.

“Lydia?” Stiles called her name softly.

“Yeah?” Lydia responded.

“Thank you,” Stiles almost sighed. “I wanted to hit him but couldn’t. Even after what he said.”

“My pleasure,” Lydia responded as she gently stroked Stiles’ hair.

“He’s lucky I didn’t throw him through the wall,” Scott partially growled.

“He was right,” Stiles stated.

“Stiles,” Kira said his name softly, her voice telling him that nobody believed that.

“It was his choice to say no to me. I never expected him to say he wanted me back,” Stiles replied.

“You’re right. It _was_ his choice to say no. Just like it was my choice to say no to you. But it was _not_ a choice for him to treat you like that,” Lydia explained. “That was uncalled for.”

“He was being … unreasonable,” Kira stated.

“He was being cruel,” Lydia corrected her.

“I just want to forget tonight happened,” Stiles finally stated.

Everyone grew quiet in agreement that they wouldn’t speak about Derek anymore. He curled his legs up to his chest, trying to make himself smaller. He was convinced that maybe he could make himself disappear, pretending that he never told Derek how he felt. Maybe even transport to a time before he even knew Derek Hale existed. But how could you go back to a time when you lived without a piece of you?

Stiles was trying to focus on the movie flickering across the screen, but he wasn’t exactly 100% sold on watching _Love Actually_ , but who was he to argue with Lydia Martin when she kidnapped him and refused to let him stay home alone. Scott and Kira silently slipped from Stiles’ jeep, following Lydia up to her room as she pulled Stiles with her. It became a quiet statement that they were not going to leave Stiles after what happened. The fact that they cared touched part of Stiles, however the other half hated that they were going out of their way to make sure he was fine.

Stiles was certain that more than a year ago, he would have given anything to be laying in Lydia’s bed with his head in her lap. He loved the way she gently stroked her fingers through his hair, reminding him of the way his mother used to comfort him all the times he visited her in the hospital.

Kira and Scott sat on the floor at the foot of Lydia’s bed, trying to remain as platonic as possible for Stiles’ sake. Stiles, however, knew that they were struggling, typing a quick text to Lydia, asking her to fix it so they’d be comfortable, before excusing himself to the bathroom. He smiled when he heard Lydia’s aggravated sigh before she started lecturing them on acting normal.

“If you want to help Stiles, act normal. You’re going to make him feel miserable if he thinks you two are uncomfortable.”

“We don’t want to flaunt anything,” Scott sheepishly admitted.

“And sitting next to each other being all rigid and awkward is supposed to make Stiles feel better?” Lydia questioned.

Stiles smiled, thankful that he had Lydia to help him through this. Somehow, Lydia understood what to do in order to try and perfect the situation. _No wonder I was so far gone on her. She really is perfect_ , he thought as he mindless trudged back from the bathroom. He smiled when he saw Scott wrapping his arm around Kira’s shoulders. He gave them an approving nod as he climbed back onto Lydia’s bed, placing his head back into her lap as if nothing happened.

Stiles tried to smile, faking a look of happiness every time Scott looked back at him. He could see Kira resting her head on Scott’s shoulder, and there was a time Stiles sometimes daydreamed that he would be able to do that with Derek. He sometimes found himself spacing out as he stared at Derek’s shoulder, imagining how his muscle would feel under his hands. Strong and stable, welcoming. Stiles released a built up sigh when he realized that everything he once hoped for was not _welcomed_. Not by Derek. He closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling of Lydia’s fingernails running over his scalp. He shocked himself further when he imagined the perfectly manicured nails transform into the short dull nails of a certain werewolf he knew he shouldn’t think about.

Stiles was thankful when Lydia finally let him leave with Scott and Kira. He smiled and reassured her that he would be fine once he got home. He leaned into her embrace, letting the warmth of her body comfort him as she gently rubbed his back.

“There’s nothing wrong with caring about someone,” Lydia affirmed.

Stiles fought back the sharp pain in his heart, avoiding the inevitable cry that was rising in his chest. He nodded as she released him, thankful that he was able to place a convincing enough smile to fool her into letting him go.

Stiles remained quiet, staring out the window as Scott drove. Kira offered commentary every now and again, a small attempt to battle the gloominess of the silence. Scott offered to walk her to her door, but Kira refused, opting for a quick kiss on the cheek before exited the jeep.

Stiles could tell every time Scott stole a side glance at him. He suppressed the urge to laugh at the fact that Scott was unable to do anything subtly. _He may be a werewolf, but he’s not the most discreet. Not like Derek_ , he thought fondly before recalling what happened. He released a heavy sigh, turning to look at Scott when he stopped the jeep.

“Scott,” Stiles started, knowing he was going to try and talk about what happened.

“Stiles, it’s not okay,” Scott stated. “It’s not okay that he treated you like that. He’s such an ass.”

“An ass that I unfortunately fell for,” Stiles replied. “He … I meant what I said to Lydia. I wanted to hit him after he said all of that. I thought I wanted to hurt him because he hurt me. But the truth is,” he took a deep breath before continuing. “I’m happy he’s happy.” He looked at Scott. “I know that is something stupid and cheesy people say in the movies, but it is true. I never thought I could care about someone enough that I don’t care if they feel that way back.

“I used to try and please Lydia, doing stupid things here and there for her, because I thought that if she praised me, gave me attention for my actions, it was a form of her caring about me. But with Derek …” He ran a hand through his hair. “With Derek, I don’t care if he gives me praise. I just … I want him to be happy, and that isn’t with me. Does it hurt like hell? Yeah. But I-I can get through this.” He wasn’t sure what was happening to his voice, but the more he tried to speak, the less he could vocalize his thoughts. He looked at Scott, knowing the tears were rolling down his face, unable to stop them.

Scott leaned across the seats, pulling Stiles into a hug. “Can you?” He questioned next to Stiles’ ear.

“I have to,” Stiles replied as he let go of Scott. “I have to get through this. It’s not fair for me to be hung up on him, and it’s not fair to him for me to do that to him.”

“You can’t help who you care for, Stiles,” Scott explained. “It just happens, and there is no changing it. That’s not a bad thing.”

“It’s a bad thing when the person wants nothing to do with you,” Stiles replied, looking down at his feet.

“Maybe you caught him off guard,” Scott finally stated. “You didn’t recognize your own feelings for him until recently, maybe it freaked him out and—”

“Scott,” Stiles’ voice was weak as he spoke, as if they were back at the loft. “Please. I … I don’t want false hope.”

“Right,” Scott nodded his head. “Okay.”

That was the last Scott talked with Stiles about Derek, trying to pretend—outside of pack meetings—that the broodiest werewolf in existence, didn’t exist at all.

~0~0~0~0~0~

In the months following, Stiles tried to attend as few pack meetings as possible. It had become an unspoken tension among everyone, all of them pretending they didn’t notice how Stiles avoided being in close proximity to Derek. He sat between Lydia and Kira, a small attempt to shield him from possibly getting close to Derek. Lydia blatantly glared at Derek, ignoring Stiles silent pleas for her to stop.

Braeden was now the one who prepared the drinks, bringing them from the kitchen to set on the coffee table. She always remembered to give Stiles tea, bringing the jar of honey with her to allow him to add it himself. She always offered him a kind smile whenever he mumbled a curt ‘thank you’.

Something about that made it worse for Stiles. He missed Derek handing him a mug of tea with just the right amount of honey. It made his heart hurt when he thought about it. The one thing he was scared would happen happened. Derek no longer cared, even the little bit he used to.

“I think that’s everything,” Scott managed to say when he realized things were starting to get more stressed than usual.

Derek only nodded his head in response.

“What is going to happen after graduation?” Braeden’s voice caught everyone off guard.

“What do you mean?” Scott inquired. He knew graduation day was drawing close, but he planed on having the summer to plan it all out.

“Graduation is coming up, and I guessed you’re all planning on pursuing a career outside of all this,” Braeden stated. “But are you going to hang around Beacon Hills still?”

“There is BHU,” Kira stated.

“I’ve been meaning to have this conversation,” Lydia began as she set her mug down, uncrossing her legs as she moved to sit on the edge of the couch. “I’ve been accepted to MIT.”

“Seriously?” Scott stated in amazement. “Lydia, that’s great.”

“And on the other side of the country,” Derek stated, pointing out the obvious that Scott didn’t notice.

“Oh, yeah,” Scott stated as a small frown covered his mouth.

“I plan on going,” Lydia replied, shooting a sharp look at Derek. “It’s the best program for me.”

“You’ll be all alone,” Malia replied. “Are you sure about that?”

“Actually, she won’t,” Stiles cleared his voice after speaking. He was grateful for Lydia’s reassuring hand on his knee.

“Stiles?” Scott’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Stiles reasoned. “But, I got accepted to Brandeis. It’s not that far from MIT, so I’ll be able to check up on Lydia.”

“Stiles,” Scott started.

“I’m not going because Lydia is going to be in Massachusetts, Scott. I’m going because Brandeis is my dream school,” Stiles explained before Scott had a chance to argue against him.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Lydia stated. “Besides, we’ll be home for holidays and vacations,” she gave a stern look at Stiles as she spoke, daring him to contradict her.

“Yeah, we will,” Stiles confirmed with a nod.

“Okay,” Scott stated, shifting from foot to foot. “If that’s what you two want, I’m not going to stop you.”

“I need to get out of Beacon Hills,” Stiles stated. “I need some time away,” he continued to wring his hands, trying to keep calm when all he wanted to do was look at Derek. He wanted to see if he was happy. Maybe he’d be mad. Maybe he’d feel something.

“Maybe that will be good,” Scott replied.

“Time away from the pack is a good thing?” Derek’s voice stated the elephant in the room.

“For some people, yeah,” Scott argued.

“We’re not werewolves, Derek,” Lydia challenged. “Or is this just you being concerned for _yourself_?”

“Lydia,” Scott warned her.

“For Scott and Malia as well,” Derek remarked. “Even for Liam. You think he’s going to understand what is happening to his wolf when two members of the pack just leave?”

“He’s my Beta,” Scott explained. “He’ll understand and be fine as long as I stick around.”

“Do you remember when Isaac left?” Derek asked Scott. “Do you remember that hollowness you felt afterwards? Because that is what will happen, on a greater scale when your _best friend_ leaves you. As part of a pack, when one member leaves, everyone else feels it.”

“I can handle it,” Scott replied. “And he’s not leaving _me_.”

Everyone became silent, knowing exactly what Scott meant. Stiles released an empty laugh. For a while, he had thought he would actually be able to convince everyone the reason he was running away to the other side of the country was because he wanted to. The reality, however, was much simpler. _Cowardly_ , Stiles thought. _I’m not a hero, I don’t have to be brave_. He couldn’t look around Beacon Hills without remembering all the stolen moments between him and Derek. All the times the pack was in danger, all the times they were celebrating being alive and well. All those times led to him being with Derek. He always gravitated towards Derek, attempting to at least be near him.

How many glances did he steal? How many lies did he tell himself? How many chances did he miss? How many kisses did he lose? How many ‘I love you’s did he forever silence?

He always told himself that what was meant to be will find a way. _I was wrong_.

Stiles stood, feeling everyone’s eyes on him. “I’m done,” he almost whispered as he started to head for the door.

“Stiles,” Scott grabbed his arm.

“Don’t!” Stiles almost yelled as he shoved Scott’s hand away. “Don’t, Scott. You’re not my Alpha. You don’t have to fix my life.” He turned from him, moving at a slow pace, he exited the loft.

His feet were heavy, feeling the world growing colder and more distant than he thought possible. Was it too much to ask to be loved? To have someone watch over _just_ him? For a long time, Stiles thought Derek was going to be the one. _I wish he could have felt the way I fell for him_. He heard footsteps following him. _Too heavy to belong to Lydia, and Malia would have tiptoed. Kira would have skipped down the stairs._

“Scott, leave me alone,” Stiles stated as he reached his jeep.

“Why didn’t you tell him?”

Stiles turned around to be faced with Derek lingering by the steps. “We haven’t talked for _months_ ,” Stiles began, twisting the keys in his pocket as he thought about just leaving without another word. “Months of silence, and you choose _now_ to follow me out of the loft to ask me why I didn’t tell _Scott_ something?”

“You’re right in saying he’s not your Alpha. But he is your best friend. Your brother,” Derek crossed his arms over his chest, and Stiles hated him for it. It made him look broodier and more attractive that way, and he knew it.

“What do you want me to say, Derek?” Stiles finally asked. “Do you want me to say that I’m a coward? That I’m running? Because we both know the answer. And we both know that, deep down, you don’t want me to admit that.”

“I want you to admit that you didn’t tell Scott you were planning on leaving because you knew it would hurt him.”

“Wow, it’s like you’re a genius or something,” Stiles scoffed.

“Don’t be a sarcastic ass,” Derek almost grunted.

“I think I’ve earned the right to be a sarcastic ass,” Stiles bit back.

“Stiles,” Derek said his name softly, and that hurt worse than if Derek yelled at him to leave.

“Please, Derek. I don’t want to have another talk,” Stiles almost begged as he turned to his jeep.

“I was out of line,” Derek stated.

“If you say, ‘It’s me, not you’, I think I’m going to punch you,” Stiles almost laughed at the entire situation. Derek didn’t get to try and make him feel special after what he said to him.

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Derek corrected him.

“Good,” Stiles retorted, nodding to himself.

“I was going to say that I shouldn’t have said what I did, in the way I did,” Derek explained.

“Then why did you?” Stiles almost yelled. He felt his body crumbling, his anger for Derek decaying into not caring that he took his heart in his hand and torn it apart. And he hated it. He hated how Derek could easily make him believe anything he said, make him believe that there was nothing else in the world but him. It wasn’t fair that Derek could do this to him, and not be affected by Stiles in the same way. He stared at Derek, waiting for him to give him a reason why, when he noted the way Derek’s usually guarded face fought against several different emotions as he structured his response.

“Because it’s the truth,” Derek finally stated.

Stiles fought against the tears that formed. His face grimaced into a small smile, trying to force himself into forgetting how much it hurt. _This is all we’ll ever be._ “I’m going to Brandeis, Derek,” he replied, forcing himself to look up at him. “I’m going there, and I’m hoping that I’ll be able to forget about you. Because right now, I can’t get you out of my head. And … I’m not going to apologize for that.” He looked away, jingling the keys in his hand before he weakly added, “I shouldn’t have to apologize for lov…” He stopped himself as his voice cracked. “For caring about someone,” he corrected himself. He didn’t wait for a response, yanking open the door to his jeep, climbing into the driver’s seat and taking off. He brushed his sleeve over his eyes, an attempt to wipe away his tears and what he foolishly hoped was the last of his longing for Derek Hale.

~0~0~0~0~0~

_Fire._

_Smoke._

_Screaming._

Derek jerked awake from his sleep, fighting his instincts screaming at him to shift. Screaming that there was something wrong. It had been years since he had the nightmare about the family fire, but it continued to plague his sleep for the past few months, getting increasingly worse; more persistent. He was haunted by an event he didn’t even physically experience, and it terrified him every time. He turned to his side, registering that Braeden was still sleeping beside him.

Derek gently moved to sit up, peeling the light sheet off his body. He was sweating, his body still lost in the realism of the nightmare. His legs dangled over the edge of the bed as he held his head in his hands. So much happened in the last few months to throw his entire way of living off.

 _Stiles_ , his thoughts grumbled, knowing the teenager was responsible for throwing him off balance. How was he supposed to respond to Stiles confessing feeling more than friendship? He stood, moving away from the bed as he started to wander the loft in search of something that would tell him what to do.

Derek wasn’t even sure when they moved from acquaintances to friends. But something about Stiles made it easy for Derek to like him. It made it easy for Stiles to get through his defenses and see him for what he was. He wasn’t an Alpha anymore, he wasn't even an Omega; he had a pack now and he worked to protect them. But Stiles didn’t see Derek as a werewolf. He saw him as an ally, a confidant, a friend. Stiles grew to care about Derek more than anyone else, and Derek turned a knowingly blind eye to it.

He remembered the sad look Stiles had whenever Braeden brought him tea during the meetings. Derek wanted to apologize and put half the jar of honey in his mug if it meant he would smile like a goofball again. _Nobody should smile that much over the gesture of honey being placed in his tea_. But he knew what the honey meant to Stiles, and he knew that deep down, he was acting like an Alpha towards Stiles, seeing to his needs and making sure they are met to please him in every way possible. _I was stupid and should have seen it_. But he genuinely liked preparing Stiles’ tea that way. He liked being the one that made that idiot smile by the simple act of placing honey in his tea.

 _But why? He’s a child_. Derek grimaced as he recalled how he spoke to Stiles. He used harsher language than he wished he had, knowing he hurt Stiles with each word.

 _‘Stop. Please,’_ Stiles’ voice rang in Derek’s ears as he recalled the memory. Everything in Derek had demanded he stop, that he tell Stiles he didn’t mean it. That he needed time to process everything Stiles was confessing. But that had only made Derek angry with himself. _How could I even entertain the idea of being in a relationship with anyone but Braeden? I care about her, and she cares about me._

Derek spent the last few hours after the pack meeting convincing himself that Stiles was just confused about the degree of his feelings. _How could he want me to take away the best years of his life?_ His fists tightened as he sprawled his body across the couch. He couldn’t get Stiles out of his head, constantly replaying the words he said to him and how he could have fixed it.

Stiles was an enigma to Derek. He didn’t understand him at first, but came to accept all the strange, intricate parts that made Stiles who he was. He admired his courage and bravery in the face of danger even though he slightly cursed him for endangering himself. His loyalty and friendship saved Derek’s life more than once in the past. And there was something about his optimism in the face of peril that gave Derek a hope and determination he hadn’t felt since before the fire.

He wasn’t sure when it all happened, but he began stripping away his clothes as he made his way outside the loft, his paws loudly hitting the ground as he transformed mid stride. He howled before he began his run, feet carrying him across the town as he raced away from his thoughts. He missed the days he would run alongside his mother and Laura, watching them in awe as he kept pace with their wolf forms. He wished there was a way he could experience this with them now.

_Home._

_Family._

_Safe._

_Home._

_Family._

_Safe._

Derek continued to repeat those words as a mantra as his feet carried him away from the outskirts of town. He didn’t notice where he was headed until he saw the light blue jeep parked in the house’s driveway. He easily moved forward, whining when he sat by the jeep’s door.

His wolf growled in anger when he sensed the hurt radiating from Stiles, knowing that he was the one who placed it there. He watched the light in Stiles room, wondering if he’d ever be able to make it up to him. _Would he thank me for trying? He shouldn’t. I hurt him, and he apologized to me. I should be asking for forgiveness. I should be protecting him, not harming him_. Something in Derek’s mind screamed at him to try climbing through Stiles’ window, to curl up on the bed with him and comfort him until his heartbreak eased.

Derek whimpered when he heard Stiles’ sob, the sound cutting through the night air like a knife. He could hear the muffled cries coming from Stiles as he tried to stop himself, likely burying his face in a pillow. Derek moved towards the porch, curling up in front of the door as he tucked his head around his hind legs, his tail shielding his eyes from the world as he focused on Stiles’ heartbeat. He continued to repeat his earlier mantra, hoping Stiles could somehow take an unknown comfort from the words. He began to drift off to sleep the minute Stiles’ breathing calmed, his heartbeat steady from his sleep. Sleep claimed him as he continued to repeat the words, fighting off the comforting warmth of sleep before he finally submitted.

_Home._

_Family._

_Safe._

_Home._

_Family._

_Stiles._

_Stiles._

_Stiles._

Derek must have been exhausted, because it wasn’t until heavy footsteps approached the door that he realized the sun was breaking the horizon. He spent the night on the Stilinski’s porch without knowing it. He perked his head up the minute the door yawned open, the noise stopping when the person opening it hesitated. His head snapped back to look at the person, fearing that it was Stiles and he would know he spent the night watching over him. He almost sighed when he saw the Sheriff staring down at him. He cowered his ears, uncertain if Stiles informed the Sheriff that he could transform into a full wolf now or if the Sheriff was going to shoot him thinking he had a feral wolf on his doorstep.

“Derek?” The Sheriff questioned when he saw the wolf’s eyes flash blue.

Derek didn’t wait for the Sheriff to say anything else before he bolted away. He ran as fast he could, avoiding the traffic as he darted off into the forest. He was foolish to spend the night there, seeking out comfort for himself when he let Stiles’ wallow alone. _I used him to make myself feel better about what_ I _did._

He felt disgusted with himself as he continued to the loft, knowing that Braeden was still there, oblivious to his whereabouts. He was selfish and left her alone. He should have told her. About the nightmares; about the amount of pain he felt when he rejected Stiles; about the way his wolf wanted nothing but to comfort the boy. The boy who stayed. The boy who cared.

_What is happening to me?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, there is a kiss that happens between Derek and Braeden. There is also conversation of Stiles experiencing one night stand(s) with strangers that he picks up at a club. If you don't like it, apologies, but this fic is going to be a roller coaster of feelings and experiences.
> 
> Enjoy!

It was one of the last weeks of summer vacation, and Derek was shaken from his sleep. He often thought about telling Braeden about his dreams, but always decided against it. He always returned before she emerged from the bed, only to be given the curt explanation that he couldn’t sleep. He knew things between them were growing increasingly stressed the more he started to pull away from her. Braeden never argued with him to tell her more, always respecting his space.

Derek continued to pace back and forth, uncertain why he was still affected by Stiles and his decision to run away to the other side of the country. He continued to tell himself that it was because of his worry for his Alpha, nothing more. “Bullshit,” he yelled at himself, leaning against the table as he stared out of the loft’s window. He growled, unable to get Stiles out of his head. He had spent the past months, constantly haunted by night terrors of his family trapped in the fire. He tried to pace away his concern, always pulled out of the loft and towards the Stilinski’s. And tonight was no different for Derek. He quickly yanked his clothes away from his body as he shifted, heading through the unpopulated areas as he headed for the house. The last thing he needed was to be sited by a pedestrian and have animal control called on him.

The sight of Derek curled up on the porch became a regular thing for the Sheriff, who began leaving both water and a blanket for him on the cooler summer nights. Derek was hesitant at first to take the offerings, convinced that if he did, the Sheriff would somehow break their silent pact and tell Stiles that he was sleeping on the porch as a wolf.

Something strange was happening with the weather, bringing in another record cold night, and Derek was thankful he was there, worried that maybe his night terrors were warning him that something was coming to harm Stiles and the Sheriff. _I can at least try to prevent it this time instead of aiding a psychopath_ , Derek reasoned.

He curled up on the porch, looking around to make sure nothing was in range to see him before he used his muzzle to unfold the blanket the Sheriff left for him. He used his teeth to pull it over his body before he settled on the welcome matt. He let out a small huff as he focused on Stiles’ heartbeat, listening to its slow and steady beat.

Derek wasn’t sure when it happened, but Stiles had somehow replaced the anger he held onto as his anchor. He had been angry for so long, that recently, he suddenly forgot what it meant to be truly angry. That was when Stiles had started to trickle into his subconscious. Stiles was able to keep his wolf in check, was even able to calm it down when it started to grow restless. Stiles refused to let Derek push him around, and at first it annoyed him that he couldn’t use reason or physical threats to make Stiles listen. But now, Derek found those traits rather endearing. He enjoyed his playful banter with Stiles, even smiling when he was able to keep up with his sarcastic spark. He pushed the thought away, haunted by the memories of rejecting Stiles, of causing him so much pain that he forced him to suffer a panic attack. _I don’t have to be Stiles’ friend to protect him_ , he rationalized.

After a few moments of confirmation that Stiles was indeed asleep, Derek drifted off to sleep. It was the same dream he always had when he fell asleep on the porch. Rushing through the forest, his paws slamming against the ground as the trees flickered by him. He caught sight of a person running ahead of him, playfully glancing back at Derek as they continued to run the trail. He increased his speed as he followed after the figure. He was chasing after them with every last bit of his strength.

Derek had this same reoccurring dream when he was young. He was constantly lost in the woods, always seeking out the person who was just out of his reach. His mother explained that it was a sign from his wolf that he was searching for his mate, for the person that would accept him for him. The person who needed him as much as he needed them. The dreams had grown increasingly desperate when he started dating Kate, and he thought the person in the dream was her. _I couldn’t have been more wrong_. His wolf was trying to warn him that his mate was somewhere out there, trying to reach him as he fell into the arms of a psychopath.

The person’s smile was blinding, urging him on. This time, however, he was closer to the person. He could almost touch them, but he still couldn’t see their face. Just that smile that nearly caused him to stumble.

Derek woke to the sound of the Sheriff’s patrol car pulling into the driveway. The sun was rising over the trees, the dew still clinging to the grass told Derek that is wasn’t too late in the morning that he would risk being seen by Stiles.

The Sheriff was walking up the steps, and Derek still refused to move from his spot on the ‘Welcome’ matt. He didn’t want to move, afraid that if he did it may be the last time. The Sheriff might tell Stiles he sleeps out here, and then what would Derek do? Pathetically explain that even though he ripped his heart to shreds, he still cared about Stiles?

“Not that eventful of a night, huh?” John asked as he crouched down next to Derek.

Derek lifted his head, letting the blanket fall away from him. He stared up at the Sheriff, wondering if he was going to ask him to change back so they could have a conversation. He normally didn’t care about the nudity problem he had when shifting back into a human, but he thought it might be a little too much of a surprise for the Sheriff.

“I just wanted to say thanks,” John stated. He reached his hand out and gently pet Derek’s head.

Derek surprised himself as he pushed his head up into the contact. There was something comforting about the gesture; something Derek hadn’t felt in years. _Alpha comfort … No … Parental comfort …_ He let out a small sigh that ended in a soft whine before bobbing his head into the Sheriff’s palm, not wanting him to stop.

“It took me a while to understand when Stiles explained to me how you can shift into a full wolf,” the Sheriff explained. “I thought he was pranking me. But when I saw you that first night, I somehow knew it was you.”

Derek cocked his head to the side, unsure how a human could even tell he was more than an ordinary wolf. He was more confused why the Sheriff had bothered keeping his nightly visits a secret from Stiles.

“You know, Stiles tends to sleep better whenever you sleep out here,” John admitted. “It’s the strangest thing. He doesn’t wake up screaming. It helped when he was dating Malia. When she would spend the night. I always accounted it to the physical comfort of having another person sleeping next to him. But now,” the Sheriff paused as he dedicated attention to scratching Derek’s ear.

Derek refused to admit to himself that he was enjoying every second of the Sheriff scratching the back of his ear. He usually hated when people, particularly Cora, would make comments about how he started to turn into a domesticated dog. But right now, the feeling of fingers scratching the back of his ear was heaven.

“Now I just think it must be something to do with being a supernatural creature. Maybe because Stiles is pack,” John explained. “I don’t know. But thank you for watching over him. It puts me at ease to know he has someone else watching over him.”

Derek looked up at the Sheriff, his enjoyment at being patted being forgotten the minute he realized what the Sheriff was telling him. Stiles slept better with Derek sleeping out on the porch. Stiles was reacting to Derek being in close proximity. Panic started to rise up in Derek’s chest as he realized that he was imprinting on Stiles without even thinking about it. He unknowingly was causing more damage then he could possible have thought, all for his own sake of feeling better at night.

Derek quickly shrugged off the blanket, shaking his fur out before carefully making his way down the porch and into the front yard. He looked back to see the Sheriff watching him go, offering a small wave to him. His heart ached when he realized this _was_ the last time he was going to be leaving the Stilinski’s after having spent the night watching over Stiles.

Derek made the rash decision to release the build up howl caught in his lungs. He reared his head back as the howl resonated through his throat, growing louder as his heartbreak pulsed through his body. He knew Stiles could hear him, and part of him hoped Stiles would. _Hear my howl. Hear my apology. Know that I’m sorry I can’t love you._

Derek quickly turned and ran as fast as he could through the forest, dodging the trees as quickly as possible as he tried to get his feelings out before he returned to the loft. He had to talk with Braeden. He had to tell her what was happening. She at least deserved to know that.

Derek pulled the loft door open, using more force then he meant to in order to let it slam shut. He moved to the couch, pulling on his sweatpants when Braeden suddenly came into his view.

“Hey,” Derek’s voice partially croaked as he spoke.

“Hey yourself,” Braeden replied as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her hair was pulled back out of her face, already dressed in clothes that suggested she was ready to leave. “Where were you this time?”

Derek almost wished Braeden sounded accusatory. For some reason, he could handle her accusing him of being a terrible boyfriend. “Sti—The Stilinski’s.” It was easier to avoid Stiles’ name.

Braeden nodded. “You’ve been going there every night you disappear.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Everything about Braeden’s posture suggested that she already came to terms with what Derek had been doing.

“You knew,” Derek replied.

“I knew,” Braeden stated. “What I don’t know, is why? I thought—” She cut herself off as she pondered what to say. “Months ago, he told you he cared about you, and you rejected him. So why are you constantly chasing after him now?”

“I … I don’t know,” Derek honestly replied. He grabbed his folded tank top off of the couch before pulling it on. _Maybe I can hide beneath a pile of clothes and ignore actually confronting this_ , he sarcastically thought. “I’ve done something pretty stupid.”

Braeden arched an eyebrow, shifting on her feet. “If you took advantage of his feelings for you, I will shoot you with wolfsbane,” she seriously stated.

“I would never do that,” Derek replied.

“Good,” Braeden nodded. “Then what did you do?”

“I accidentally initiated an imprinting bond on him,” Derek replied. “Werewolves imprint on other pack members when they start to grow close to one another. It’s a mark of habitual trust between the two. We feel comfort just from being close to them. We start needing them in our lives constantly.”

“Does Stiles know?” Braeden asked.

“No,” Derek replied. “I didn’t know I did it until today. I’ve been sleeping on the porch. Keeping an eye over him. He was in pain and my wolf kept waking me up, demanding I fix what I did. But I …”

“You’re too much of a coward to tell him to his face?” Braeden arched her eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Derek weakly agreed.

“Jesus, Derek,” Braeden started. “You can’t put the kid through that.”

Derek looked up at Braeden, surprised that she wasn’t reprimanding him for doing this to _her_. “You’re not mad at me?”

Braeden partially smiled. “I’m mad at you for lying to me, but I’m not going to freak out over something I’ve known was coming,” her smile faded as she spoke. “This,” she gestured around the loft, “Has been amazing. All of it. Getting to know the pack; getting to be with you. I don’t regret that.”

Derek looked down. “I feel like this would be easier if you hated me.”

“You don’t get to have it easy, I guess,” Braeden replied, huffing out a breath as she leaned against the couch. “Stiles deserves to know.”

“I don’t feel like that about him,” Derek stated.

“You don’t feel what? Love?” Braeden turned to look at Derek. “Derek, love comes in so many different forms, that sometimes we don’t see them until it’s too late. You can’t initiate an imprint bond on him without him knowing.”

“I know. And I’m ending it,” Derek explained.

“Won’t he feel that?” Braeden inquired.

“Not as bad,” Derek stated. “He may go back to having night terrors every now and again. But he won’t feel abandoned like he would if he left for Brandeis while sharing an imprint bond with me.”

“Derek, that’s still involving him,” Braeden explained. “You don’t have to tell him about … about us, but you should explain to him about what is happening.”

“About us?” Derek asked, looking at Braeden.

Braeden lingered by her spot behind the couch before she slowly made her way over to him. She stopped a few inches from him, taking his hands into hers. “Derek, I’d fight for you,” she sincerely stated. “ _If_ I thought you wanted me to fight for you,” she added. She offered him a small, weak smile as he looked at her. “You’re a great guy, and I care about you a lot. But sometimes,” she sighed. “Sometimes things don’t work out for people just because they are happy with one another. Sometimes they can’t see what they’ve always wanted is on the sideline instead of right in front of them.”

“Braeden—”

“No,” Braeden stated with a small laugh. “Don’t argue with me, Derek, or I might not actually get this out. You know I’m right.” She gently cupped his cheek in the palm of her hand. “What we have is real. It always was and always will be. But I think you gave your heart away a long time ago without knowing it. And that’s …” She took a deep breath before sighing. “And that’s okay. He’s a lucky guy.” She gave him a knowing smile when he looked at her in surprise.

“I … I don’t even know when I started _liking_ him, let alone …”

“Love him,” Braeden finished his sentence. “Sometimes life takes us by surprise.”

“I can’t. I can’t,” Derek replied as he let his head hang.

“Can’t what?”

“I can’t be with him. Not like that,” Derek added. “Not like he needs me to be.”

Braeden observed Derek’s face, trying to decode what he really meant. “You need to find that reason why, then. You need to find out why you can’t be with him. But I can’t be in a relationship with you as you figure that out. It’s not fair to you. And it’s definitely not fair to me.”

Derek nodded weakly in response. He looked at Braeden when he heard her deeply sigh. He was surprised when she leaned up and gently pressed her lips against his. The kiss was by no means brief, but it was chaste, full of both a sorrowful goodbye and a fondness.

“I’m going to go for a run,” Braeden murmured as her lips ghosted over Derek’s. “I need to think about some things,” she explained.

“Okay,” Derek’s reply was almost inaudible as he struggled against the lump in his throat.

~0~0~0~0~0~

**_Mid-September_ **

 

Stiles tapped his highlighter against the corner of his novel, scanning the quotes he marked as meaningful. He was sick of worrying about this paper, and knew that if he didn’t focus, he would ultimately forgo writing it altogether and start off his first college semester poorly. He sighed as his eye continually scanned over the simple quote he highlighted on the page. He was so focused on trying to find something of meaning that he forgot _why_ he marked that particular quote.

“You are so brave and quiet I forgot you are suffering,” Stiles read the quote out loud.

“What?” Lydia questioned as she looked up from her magazine. She was flipping through the glossy pages, her feet swaying through the air as she smacked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

Stiles almost forgot Lydia was still here, using his bed as her own personal lounging area when he refused to leave the room for the night until he found a subject for his paper. He thanked his lucky stars when Lydia relented, even when she told him he better make it quick, hinting that she had plans to dance the night away at one of the local clubs.

“Sorry, it’s a quote,” Stiles explained.

“Hemingway, I know,” Lydia replied, pushing her body off of Stiles’ bed as she came to stand by his desk. “Are you going to use that one?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles admitted. “I highlighted it without even knowing why.”

Lydia crinkled her nose before she snatched the book from his hand. She inspected the front cover, murmuring “A Farewell to Arms” as she snapped it shut, tossing it on his bed.

“Lydia, I still—”

“You need to clear your mind. It’s Friday night, and I’m tired of having men stare at me like I don’t belong on my own campus,” Lydia had her hands on her hips, asserting her annoyance as she spoke. “I need to have a good time, Stiles. And the one guy I know who isn’t going to question my smarts or make lewd comments about my appearance, is you.”

“Okay,” Stiles finally caved, standing up from his desk chair as he snatched his room keys from their resting place. He made his way to the door, stopping when Lydia remained near the desk. “What?” he asked, not knowing why she suddenly tried to stay in the room.

“You’re going out dressed like that?” Lydia inquired as she motioned up and down his body.

“What is wrong with this?” Stiles questioned as he looked down at his clothing. Sure, he was wearing a Marvel Avengers t-shirt under his favorite plaid, along with a pair of his comfortable jeans and his converse. But Lydia never said anything about his attire before.

“Hm,” Lydia mumbled something to herself as she began circling Stiles like a hawk.

“Lydia,” Stiles said her name sternly as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“I think we should go to the mall,” Lydia finally stated, pulling Stiles after her as she made her way out of the room.

“Lydia, I’m not going to have you change my style,” Stiles argued.

“Do you want to be desired?” Lydia finally asked as she turned to face him. “Do you want to be able to make men, and women, grovel at the ground with want?” Her perfectly painted fingernail flicked the tip of Stiles’ nose when he rolled his eyes. “Do you want to have the confidence to make people like _him_ want nothing but you?”

Stiles looked away from Lydia, not wanting to answer that question. It had been an unspoken truce between them that there would be no mention of Derek Hale when they were outside of California. Being in a new state meant that Stiles was allowed to—attempt—forgetting about the werewolf he was so hung up on.

“Sorry, that was low,” Lydia admitted. “But, if you want to move on, like you’ve been saying in all those speeches since graduation, this is your chance. Let me help you flare up the Stilinski attractive meter, but keep a flash of the unique nerd. I’ll make it fun,” she added with a small smile. She clapped her hands together excitedly when Stiles nodded his head in consent. She hooked her arm around his, escorting him out of the dorms and towards her car, prepared to bring in the new era of ‘Stiles Stilinski: Eligible College Freshman’ with a bang.

To say the night was a success, well, the answer changed on whose opinion you believed. Lydia was ecstatic when she dropped Stiles off at his dorm, telling him that she would check in when she was back at her apartment. She had raved the entire ride back about how perfect the night went, Stiles being the talk of the club thanks to her handy work.

Stiles on the other hand felt himself becoming increasingly ill whenever he thought about the night’s events. He hadn’t planned on drinking every drink handed to him by the bartender (after Lydia stuck her fingernail in every drink to guarantee it wasn't roofied; _thank you Lydia Martin for always being prepared with anti-roofie nail polish_ ), but he was feeling particularly down at the fact that he seemed to catch the eye of almost every guy and girl he could, except the one he wanted. _The one I want is thousands of miles away, probably brooding in between his bouts of sex with his super hot, independent and sultry girlfriend._ Stiles’ brain stopped processing for a moment when he tried to remember what he was thinking about before Derek Hale ruined everything. _Of course he did. Derek Hale ruins everything. Ruined my life. I was fine going unnoticed and being the undesirable loser of Beacon Hills. I was fine embracing that role. Then tall, dark, and eyebrows shows up and there goes my heterosexuality._ He laughed slightly, thinking about just how expressive Derek’s eyebrows alone were.

Stiles bid goodbye to Lydia, waving her off when she asked if he was fine to walk the stairs to his room. He stumbled down the hallway before be finally reached his door, shoving it open. He kicked his door shut, sluggishly moving towards his bed as he peeled his jacket off. He plopped down on his bed, tossing his jacket onto his desk. He was thankful Lydia had dragged him to the club. He felt different, almost out of his element as he looked down at his clothes. He was dressed in a red Henley, one that Lydia forced him to purchase because it apparently made him ‘irresistible looking’. His jeans were tight, and a dark shade of blue he was certain would leave dye on his skin and anything else they touched. It was strange how a simple wardrobe change made him feel like the belle of the ball.

Lydia made a point of forcing him to dance with her, no matter how badly he tried to shy away from her and make his way back to the bar. She merely clicked her heel against the dance floor until Stiles caved. She promised to teach him how to dance appropriately, reassuring him it would be something he would enjoy. As it turned out, dancing with Lydia was more fun than he thought. There was no strange one-sided attraction between them anymore, putting Stiles at ease.

Stiles was thankful that on graduation day she kissed him, finally letting him pull back from her and exclaiming that it was ‘Too weird. Like kissing my sister.’ Thankful that after everything that happened in Beacon Hills, he had Lydia with him now, teaching him the ropes of how to be the center of attention and make people work for him.

Stiles felt a wave of confidence move through him when he felt eyes on him and Lydia. Lydia made a point of leading him out onto the dance floor, putting him on display before wrapping his arms around her waist as she swiveled her hips back against his, making Stiles move with her. She flashed a flirtatious smile at the people looking at them, an invitation for them to stare all they wanted. She turned her body to face Stiles, running her hands down to his hips, forcing him to move against her more.

“Take a look around, Stiles,” Lydia whispered as she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close. “You could have anyone of them you wanted. Eat your heart out, Massachusetts.”

Stiles felt Lydia’s smile, causing him to smile some as he took a quick glance around. He was surprised when he saw a lot of people staring. He was used to some people staring at him, waiting for him to make a fool of himself. He wasn’t used to this attention; the attention Lydia Martin demanded when she merely strutted down the main hall of Beacon Hills’ High. Stiles wasn’t used to being wanted, and something in his chest tightened. He knew he was supposed to forget about Derek, but all he could think about was how he once thought Derek looked at him like that. Derek used to look at him like he was something he’d never seen before, more of a mystery that he desperately wanted to solve opposed to the way everyone else now looked at him and Lydia with lust.

Stiles tried to push the memory of Derek away, unsuccessful his first few times, so he forced himself to focus on the sway of Lydia’s hips, following her like a lifeline. He was surprised when Lydia turned away from him, luring over another guy with a simple gesture of her hand, continuing to dance with both men as she sandwiched herself between them.

Lydia was the one who called the night a success, proud of her work when Stiles received several complimentary drinks accompanied by phone numbers scrawled on the napkins. Stiles couldn’t argue with her that it was a serious esteem booster, knowing that he wasn’t completely defective. He pocketed the numbers, lying to Lydia when he said he would hold on to them. She didn’t have to know he discarded them in his trashcan the minute he got back to his room. He knew moving on from his crush on Derek was going to be tough, but he did not realize it was going to be an uphill struggle. _You think rejection would push me over the edge of ever wanting him_.

Stiles sighed in defeat as he moved to his closet, pulling the sweater he hid in the back. He ran his fingers over the knitted fabric, admiring the light grey color. It was baggy on him, used to housing broader, broodier shoulders and bulging biceps. _Stupid Derek Hale, letting me borrow his sweater._ He quickly pulled the sweater on, ignoring every word his brain screamed at him. _You’re supposed to be moving on. You’re supposed to forget Derek Hale exists. You’re NOT supposed to be still holding on to the sweater he happened to loan you. No matter how comfortable it is_.He sighed, wanting to hit his head against the wall at his stupidity. He couldn’t get over the fact that no matter how many time he told himself he was going to give the sweater back, or even abandon it somewhere, he couldn’t let it go. It faintly smelled like Derek still, almost completely losing all traces that it ever belonged to the werewolf.

Stiles sat on his bed, curling his legs up against his chest as he pulled the sleeves of the sweater down around his hands. He pushed his chin into his knees as he tried to think about everything that happened. How he left Beacon Hills without so much as a backwards glance at the loft. How he didn’t even text Derek that he was leaving. How could he text something like that to Derek when he knew he wanted nothing to do with him?

Stiles picked up his copy of _A Farewell to Arms_ that Lydia had thrown onto his bed. He flipped through the pages until his eyes landed on the highlighted words he almost forgotten that he marked.

_‘You are so brave and quiet I forgot you are suffering.’_

Stiles sighed as he tucked the book against his chest, not wanting to think about why he highlighted that quote. He knew why, but he didn’t want to admit it. He knew that the minute he read those words that he thought of Derek. He thought about all the countless times he convinced himself that he was afraid of Derek, unsure what his true motives were, until he started saving his life. He remembered being in awe of Derek and his abilities to selflessly throw himself into danger. It also hurt him whenever Derek fell into harm’s way, knowing that it could be the last time he saw him.

It wasn’t until Stiles came to realize how broken Derek truly was. Derek had lost his first love when the bite rejected her; lost nearly his entire family in a fire; his heart was broken when he discovered Kate used him to rip his world apart. He thought he found happiness again with Ms. Blake, only to discover that she was lying. He lost his Betas. Stiles was not a werewolf, and couldn’t personally understand the pain of losing a pack member, but he thought he understood when Cora explained it to him.

When Stiles’ mother died, Stiles felt like a limb had been amputated. His entire way of life was different. His mother had taken up a significant role in his life, and now she was gone. He remembered wandering into his parents’ room the minute his dad left for work, idly moving to the closet. He ran his hands over his mother’s old clothes, fondly remembering the memories every outfit held. _The police family picnic. Mom & Dad’s anniversary party. Christmas Day._ Every outfit held a significant memory that just made him miss her more. He found himself curling up in the closet amongst those clothes, taking solace in the familiar smell of his mother. His father always found him sleeping in there, never waking him up as he collected him in his arms and brought him to his room.

Stiles wondered if Derek had moments like that, needing to find comfort in the fading scent of those he’s lost. He remembered when Derek came back from the bank, carrying a lifeless Erica in his arms as he climbed the steps up to the loft. Derek ignored Peter’s question of what happened as he laid Erica’s body on the table before moving to retrieve what he needed for burial. Stiles lingered, not knowing if he could assist Derek, only knowing that he wanted to. He remembered the silence he shared with Derek as they prepared Erica’s body for burial, both of them unable to find the words they wanted to say before they shared an unspoken agreement that sometimes silence was all that was needed. He remembered helping Derek bury her body in the preserve, taking care to perfectly wrap the wolfsbane in a circle to mark the grave.

Stiles remembered how grief stricken Derek was. Derek was an Alpha who lost a Beta, almost an equivalent to losing a child. Stiles recalled how Derek traded in his Camaro for the Cruiser, and he never made the connection before now, but Derek was literally the bachelor turning single dad. He traded in his sports car for a safer vehicle, one that accommodated for more room. _One that Erica could have learned to drive with_.

Derek suffered in silence once he started to lose his Betas. Once Ms. Blake entered his life and began tearing everything apart, Derek started to retract himself once more. He blamed himself for everything that happened, and Stiles wished he could take back how he accused him in the hospital. How he told him his dad missing was _his_ fault. But he realized in that moment, that Derek didn’t mind him screaming at him. _He let me blame him, because he knew I needed someone to blame. He knew … and he let me. God, why? Why did he let me?_

Stiles turned his head to the side as he rested his cheek against his knees. He closed his eyes, inhaling against the sleeve of Derek’s sweater. He felt guilty, still having the sweater, but part of him didn’t want to give it up. He wanted to still have this, as a type of consolation prize. He knew Lydia would snatch it up and burn it if she knew, and that made it all the more precious. It was bad enough he felt like a creep having it, but to wear it whenever he felt unbearably alone made him feel worse about possessing it.

 _I should give it back. Maybe I’ll ship it back to Scott and let him give it to Derek_.

Stiles let his mind wander before he started to lean sideways. His head hit the pillow, thoughts drifting to Beacon Hills and a time before everything started to change. A time when Stiles might have known Derek under different circumstances. Maybe to a time when Derek smiled with ease, looking like the goddamn sun, still living with his family in his childhood home on the preserve. He liked that version of reality. It was a version he could have been happy with, certain that he would have had a chance wooing a less grumpy Derek.

~0~0~0~0~0~

**_Beginning of Thanksgiving Break_ **

****

Stiles flailed, accidentally rolling out of bed when he heard a loud knock on the door. “Coming,” he groaned as he moved to open the door.

“Morning, sunshine,” Lydia beamed despite the time.

“Do you know what time it is?” Stiles grumbled as he took one of the coffees from Lydia’s hands.

“No, what time is it?” Lydia asked as she peeked into his room, noting the coast was clear before she pushed her way in.

“I don’t know, I was asking you,” Stiles groaned, sipping the coffee.

“Oh,” Lydia looked at her wristwatch. “About quarter until five.”

“Why are you here so early?” Stiles whined.

“I wanted to know how your solo night went,” Lydia replied with a smile, moving textbooks from Stiles’ desk chair so she could sit. “So?” She smiled, cocking her head to the side as she awaited to be regaled by his story.

“I only got about an hour of sleep, you do realize that, right?” Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, setting his coffee on the desk as he closed the sweater around him, folding his arms against his chest like a barricade.

“Don’t tell me nothing happened,” Lydia replied with a small pout.

“Something happened,” Stiles admitted, shifting slightly as he felt Lydia’s eyes on him. “The guy literally left an hour ago.”

“You can sleep in the car. What happened?” Lydia asked excitedly.

“I … ” Stiles let out a heavy sigh. “I fucked up, Lyds.”

“Tell me you wore a condom,” Lydia started, her body straightening as she prepared one of her famous lectures about not being an idiot when it came to sex.

“Yes!” Stiles yelled. “God, yes, he did.”

“Oh,” Lydia slightly wiggled her eyebrows as she smirked behind her coffee.

Stiles smiled as he the pushed the chair with his foot, causing Lydia to suppress a laugh.

“So, how did you ‘fuck up’?” Lydia used her ‘annoyed-with-Stiles’ voice as she imitated him.

“The guy,” Stiles started, picking up his coffee as he began to pace slightly. “He was hot. Like, _really_ hot.”

Lydia nodded in approval.

“Muscles I thought only existed on werewolves. Broad shoulders. Gorgeous green eyes. Black hair … Stubble.”

Lydia set her coffee down when she caught on. “So, Derek 2.0.”

Stiles loudly groaned. “I tried not to. But do you know what it is like to have a man of Derek’s level of attractiveness to be interested in me?” He turned to look at Lydia, only receiving an arched, perfectly-waxed eyebrow. “Okay, you do, but I don’t. And he was perfect. Totally fine that I’d never done it with a guy before. And the whole time …” He let his arms slam against his legs as he plopped down on the bed. “I could only picture _him_. Ugh, I’m going to the lowest circle in hell.”

“Stiles,” Lydia started as she set down her coffee. “Everyone has thought of someone else at some point in their sex life. You don’t have to feel bad about it.”

“But how am I supposed to face him this Thanksgiving?” Stiles questioned. “Scott said the pack meeting was planned for this vacation. At the loft. I am going to have to go there, knowing that I pretended a guy—who could have been Derek’s long lost double—was Derek as he fucked me.”

“Just don’t think it, and Derek won’t be able to smell the sex rolling off of you.”

“Lydia!” Stiles groaned her name.

“Alright, look,” Lydia stood up, taking the few steps to stand in front of Stiles. “Derek is with Braeden. You told him how you felt, and now you are out in the free world. You are allowed to have feelings. You didn’t steal anything from him. You didn’t violate his consent.”

Stiles nodded, uncertain how he was going to go through with Lydia’s plan. He hadn’t moved on from Derek, not in the slightest. He was concerned when Lydia didn’t lecture him on the importance of a clean break and moving on.

“Stiles,” Lydia’s voice held an unspoken question.

“Yeah?” Stiles questioned as he looked up at her.

“Where did you get that sweater?” Lydia was inspecting his sweater.

Stiles’ entire body became rigid, forgetting that Lydia now knew he had this sweater and there was no denying its existence.

“Um, bought it?”

“Really? Because it looks like something Derek would wear,” Lydia placed her hands on her hips as she spoke.

“Shit,” Stiles partially groaned.

“Take it off,” Lydia instructed as she held out her hand.

“Hear me out,” Stiles started to argue. “I’ve had it for a while, okay? I have been planning on giving it back to him, but I keep forgetting.”

“And is there a particular reason why you happen to be wearing it only an hour after your one night stand?” Lydia arched her eyebrows, waiting to hear the reason Stiles was going to make up.

“I … I’m pathetic, that’s why, okay?” Stiles finally confessed. “I’m so hung up on the guy, that just being able to wrap myself in this stupid sweater is enough of a comfort.” He shook his head, aggressively yanking the sweater off to throw it to Lydia.

Lydia caught the sweater in one hand, shaking it slightly before she expertly started to fold it. “I know,” she offered. “After Jackson left for London, I still had his favorite jacket. I used to wear it nonstop.”

“You were at least dating him,” Stiles muttered, placing his head in his hands.

“Just because you never dated Derek doesn’t mean you won’t miss him when you are away from him,” Lydia explained. She took a seat on the bed beside Stiles, placing the sweater in her lap. “I’ll give it back to him, if you want. I’ll just say it got mixed up with some of my clothes that I’ve been keeping in your jeep.”

“Lydia, that sweater is three sizes too big for you. Why would you accidentally take it?”

“Cotton and wool, silly. This thing is comfortable,” Lydia joked as she rested her head on Stiles’ shoulder.

“Thanks,” Stiles partially laughed. “I don’t know how I’d get through this without you.”

“Well, you’ll never have to figure that out,” Lydia replied, slipping her arm around his. “Now, ready to make the road trip back?” She asked as she turned her head to place her chin on his shoulder, observing his profile.

Stiles hesitated as he thought about it. He could try and argue that he had work he could stay at school and complete. But he knew Lydia wouldn’t accept that. Plus, he hadn’t seen his dad since the end of summer vacation, and there was no way he was missing Thanksgiving. He turned his head slightly to look at Lydia. He smiled when he realized that Lydia _was_ part of Scott’s pack, but so was he. And together, they created their own sub-pocket of the pack, joining together to survive the hell that was being single among a group of happily paired off friends. Lydia had his back no matter what, even if she had to protect him from himself. Lydia gave him a reassuring smile, as if she could tell he was having second thoughts.

“Yeah,” Stiles nodded his head in confirmation. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

The reunion was everything Stiles could have expected. Lots of hugging and catching up. But Stiles was shocked when everyone was accounted for except Derek. He gnawed at his bottom lip all night in an attempt to avoid the subject of a certain tall, dark, and brooding werewolf’s absence. They were all eating Chinese food as they caught up on each other’s lives, in the loft without a trace of Derek. It continued to bother Stiles that no one had mentioned Derek at all.

“Where’s Derek?” Lydia finally questioned once the conversation and laughs died down. Stiles was thankful, once again, that he had Lydia to ask the questions he wanted answers to but was unable to ask.

“He left,” Scott finally stated, sharing a look with Kira.

“What, to go to the grocery store?” Lydia mockingly questioned.

“No, he went back to New York, I think,” Liam stated as he returned with an armful of soda.

Everyone turned to look at Liam, all for separate reasons. Lydia looked shocked at the knowledge, Scott looked annoyed that Liam revealed Derek’s location, and Kira looked like she was waiting for a storm to hit. Malia continued to consume the contents of her take out box, not catching on to the growing tension. Stiles continued to stare at the ground, unable to look up at the rest of the pack.

“What?” Liam questioned. “I thought you said he was headed there after visiting Cora in Mexico,” he stated to Scott.

Stiles looked up, staring at Scott as he waited for him to answer. Scott finally looked at Stiles, giving him a look that begged him not to start something. But Stiles wasn’t good at not causing a scene.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Stiles questioned.

“You never asked,” Scott reasoned.

“Bullshit,” Stiles responded. “I’m as much a part of this pack as he is. I deserve to know when a member leaves.”

“And you left to get away from him,” Scott replied. “Did you really think I was going to tell you over the phone that he left so you could obsess over it?”

“You could have told me that he was leaving without saying goodbye,” Stiles argued.

“Like you did?” Scott retorted.

Stiles looked away from Scott. “I said goodbye to you guys,” he stated.

“You didn’t say goodbye to him,” Scott replied, trying to mask his anger. “You both ended up leaving everything on a bitter note. He didn’t even know you left for college until a week after you stopped showing up for meetings. He ended up asking me. _I_ had to tell him, Stiles. I would have been fine doing it, if you had asked me to.”

Stiles didn’t know how to respond, uncertain if he could even give a reason for why he never told Derek. He remembered thinking about telling him, about giving him a formal goodbye. But Stiles couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was afraid of facing Derek, of facing a ridicule he couldn’t run from. He could tell Scott’s anger was directed at him, it was the Alpha in Scott that made him mad on behalf of his Beta.

“Sorry,” Stiles offered.

“Yeah,” Scott weakly replied. “Me too.”

Stiles shook his head, trying to forget the entire scenario, but he couldn’t ignore the heaviness of the silence that fell over the loft. He pushed his food back onto the table, excusing himself with the false excuse of not feeling well. To which Kira, bless her heart, offered to grab him Tums from the bathroom. Stiles declined and curtly left, knowing that everyone was going to start talking the minute he closed the loft door.

It was Lydia’s text that night that made him get into his jeep and drive to the preserve.

**Lydia Martin (11:24 pm):** _You didn’t tell me you left things unsaid. I’m not chastising you, but you should have told him when you were leaving._

 

Stiles grew angry at the pack. They all cared about Derek being hurt, but what about him?

 

 **Stiles Stilinski (11:26):** _I’m so glad you all care when I don’t tell him I’m leaving, but it was fine when he disappeared with Cora without so much as a goodbye._

 

 **Lydia Martin (11:29 pm):** _Stop being a Drama Queen. Derek texted Scott when he left, and Scott told us. He didn’t tell **ANY** of us he was leaving. You told everyone **BUT** him when you were leaving. Imagine how it feels to be the last to know something. To be deprived of a goodbye._

 

Stiles felt the lump grow in this throat as he read her text message. He knew Lydia was right to call him out on it. He had convinced himself that Derek wouldn’t have cared if he didn’t tell him he was leaving. But deep down, he knew he was being vindictive when he didn’t tell him. He had hoped it would hurt him somehow. Hurt him like he hurt him.

Stiles switched off his phone as he moved through the preserve. He slowly stumbled upon the burnt ruins of the Hale house, walking over to the three graves marked by wolfsbane before sitting down next to them.

“Hey, Erica. Boyd,” Stiles softly spoke before his eyes wandered over to Laura’s grave. “Laura,” he gave a respectful nod. He hadn’t known Laura, but he felt like he would have liked her. He only knew the few stories Cora told him, the even fewer once Derek sometimes would tell to him. Stiles always offered his own story about his mother, letting Derek know he wasn’t alone in missing a loved one.

Stiles looked up at the moon, noticing it was almost full. He felt slightly foolish for being out so close to a full moon, but he had to get out of his house. He had to be somewhere that was far enough away from everyone. He curled his legs up against his chest, hugging his knees tightly.

Stiles turned his wrist, looking at his wristwatch. He waited for the hands to strike midnight exactly before he took a deep breath. _The haunting hour_ , he thought. He spent weeks researching a way to communicate with the dead after Erica and Boyd died. He continued to come across the theory of the haunting hour, the lost hour between midnight and one that could be used by those with psychic abilities to speak with the dead.

“I messed up,” Stiles finally spoke out loud. “I did something pretty childish,” he continued, waiting for a response.

“You are pretty childish,” Erica’s voice echoed around him.

Stiles smiled, thankful that Erica’s voice responded. He was terrified when he first came here, hearing her voice respond to him, telling him that everything was okay. _‘It doesn’t hurt here.’_ Stiles wanted nothing more than to tell the others, but part of him was afraid they’d think he was still feeling the aftereffects of the Nogitsune. _Lydia can find dead bodies. I can talk to the dead during the haunting hour. What a pair_.

“You were the one that threw me in a dumpster,” Stiles jokingly argued back.

“True. But that was just me acting out in hopes you would notice me,” Erica’s voice was amused as she spoke. “Worked for Derek.”

Stiles gave a sad laugh. “That’s what I messed up, Erica,” he finally stated, keeping his eyes focused on the moon as he desperately tried to not look around for Erica. He didn’t want her to leave him. He knew it was crazy to think this was real, but it was Beacon Hills. Maybe the haunting hour worked when there was an accumulation of spiritual power present. Maybe it was just werewolves that could still speak after their death during the haunting hour. _Maybe if they died too soon. Unfinished business_.

“Derek looks at you like you hung the moon, idiot,” Erica replied.

“No one ever understood it,” Boyd’s voice chimed in.

“He doesn’t … not anymore,” Stiles sighed as he leaned back onto his hands.

“My brother is a stubborn ass,” an unknown female voice spoke.

Stiles felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand. He didn’t feel as if there was a predator with him, but rather a powerful presence that refused to be ignored. _Laura_.

“We all know that,” Erica’s voice replied. “He tried a little too hard to be Alpha.”

“You’re special, Stiles,” Laura’s voice ignored Erica. “There is something about you that is special. To Beacon Hills. To the pack. To Derek.”

“Yeah, I’m crazy and can talk to ghosts,” Stiles stated.

“Still love you,” Erica’s voice stated. A small gust of wind brushed over Stiles’ body, the air sending goose bumps through his body as it gently kissed his cheek. He knew it was Erica's lips that gently pressed against his skin.

“Take care of yourself first, Stiles,” Laura’s voice offered. “That is what makes a pack stronger. The individual members can make or break a pack.”

“What about Derek?” Stiles asked.

“Give him time,” Laura stated. “Time and space is what Derek has always needed. He needs …” Her voice took a deep breath, sighing in defeat. “Derek needs to know he isn’t to blame. That he has value. Just let him know that, despite everything, you still think he has value. No matter what that value is.”

Stiles nodded, accepting that his mind was probably breaking and that he should probably have left himself in Eichen house. _This is probably guilt … But I’ll take it as them_.

“Take care of my baby brother,” Laura’s voice finally stated. “He needs someone to watch out for him.”

“I will,” Stiles replied, knowing that no matter how much he told himself that he was over Derek, he knew he wasn’t going to be. Even if he couldn’t be with Derek, he knew he could still help him. _If he ever comes back … I have to tell him that it doesn’t matter. I still care, even in a nonromantic way_.

Stiles sighed deeply when he felt a suddenly blanket of warmth wash over him, feeling a hauntingly familiar pair of arms wrap around his body. He thought he’d never feel Erica’s strong yet delicate arms wrap around him again, and he was never more thankful for the supernatural power Beacon Hills held.

“You really are a hero,” Erica’s voice barely whispered to him before he felt her presence disappear completely.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Stiles was thankful Thanksgiving ended quickly. Christmas break was spent in a childish break-up with Scott, in which both of them avoided one another, still bitter from their confrontation about Derek.

It wasn’t until Valentine’s Day that Stiles and Lydia spoke about Derek. They were both in Lydia’s apartment near campus, spending the day together because the refused to admit that they were single.

“So,” Lydia started as she took the spot on the couch next to Stiles. “I was thinking, _Forever Young_ ,” she held up the DVD case to display it.

“Young Mel Gibson is very hot,” Stiles nodded in approval as he shoveled popcorn into his mouth.

“ _When Harry Met Sally_ ,” Lydia held up the other case.

“Romantic-comedy gold,” Stiles replied.

“And then perhaps some _Pretty Woman_ ,” Lydia replied fanning the three out.

“Sounds perfect,” Stiles replied with a forced smile, looking down at the bowl of popcorn housed in his lap.

“Okay, what’s up?” Lydia asked as she turned her body to face Stiles, folding her legs up underneath her.

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked as he looked down at the popcorn.

“You’ve been like this since Thanksgiving. And I can’t take it anymore. Because ever since we got back from Christmas, Scott has been harassing me nonstop about you. He said you haven’t been answering his texts, no matter how much he threatens to stop being your ‘best bro’,” Lydia made air quotes as she spoke. “He threatened to show up on our doorsteps and give us puppy eyes. Kira is keeping him at bay.”

Stiles slightly laughed at the sight of Scott standing on the doorstep, soaked from the obviously mandatory rain storm he would get stuck in, staring up at the both of them as he frowned, giving them enormously sad puppy eyes. He took a deep breath before speaking. “This whole thing has flipped my life upside down, you know?” Stiles finally looked up at Lydia. “Realizing that I have a life altering crush on Derek, only to have it hit me full force that he now is repelled by the very thought of me. Then moving across the country with you. Knowing that I won’t run into Derek when back in Beacon Hills. Becoming _this_ ,” Stiles gestured to himself.

“You look hot,” Lydia corrected him, as she stood to put _Forever Young_ in the DVD player.

“All thanks to you,” Stiles replied. “And I’m having an incredible sex life but a miserable dating life.”

“Stiles, you’ve slept with a total of 3 people since we’ve moved here. You aren’t Brian Kinney,” Lydia corrected him as she moved back to sit on the couch.

“That’s a big deal for me, Lyds,” Stiles replied. “And it’s great, even if every time Derek ruins it.”

“Wait, are you telling me,” Lydia paused as she turned her entire body to face him. “That you pictured Derek when you were with that girl last month?”

“Not my fault,” Stiles rationalized.

“You’ve got it bad,” Lydia mused.

“I know I do! She was all for not doing it face-to-face, I obliged. And last second, right before my orgasm hits,” Stiles gestured with his hands as he spoke. “Derek. I don’t even know what Derek _sounds_ like when he moans, and I could have sworn I heard it.”

“Maybe you should give up one night stands for a while and try dating to get over this little obstacle.”

“Maybe. I don’t know, Lyds. What I _do_ know is that I am excited to get back to Beacon Hills and try to fix the mess with Scotty. Get my life on track now that I know Derek Hale will not be there to distract me.” Stiles tossed a piece of popcorn up in the air, effortlessly catching it.

“Glad to hear it,” Lydia responded.

“But thanks for this. All this,” Stiles seriously stated.

“All what?” Lydia asked as she cocked her head to the side.

“For not ostracizing me once you figured out I had a crush on you. For taking me under your wing. For being Lydia Fucking Martin,” Stiles released a faint laugh as he spoke.

“I knew your crush was a childhood thing,” Lydia reasoned. “I kissed you on graduation to solidify a point.”

“I think I’m still traumatized, by the way,” Stiles stated. “You’re gorgeous,” he quickly added. “No doubt about that, but the minute you were pressed against me,” he shook his head. “It felt incestuous.”

“That was my point. I needed to help you let go of those feelings by understanding that they weren’t romantic,” Lydia explained as she touched Stiles’ knee. “I think … I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I think that’s your problem with Derek.”

Stiles looked up at Lydia, uncertain what she was getting at.

“I think it’s because Derek gave you reasons why he _couldn’t_ date you. Not that he didn’t _want_ to date you.”

“It sounded like he didn’t want—Wait, what?” Stiles’ body suddenly became rigid as he processed Lydia’s words.

“I’m not saying he _does_ want you, I’m just saying that Derek never said he didn’t. He never really rejected you, just made you feel humiliated enough that you would run away. I don’t even think he knew what he was doing until he did it,” Lydia offered a faint smile. “I think him leaving is giving you the space you need to figure things out. And to grow into an adult.”

“You’re saying he’s waiting for me to blossom then he’s going to swoop back in and take me?” Stiles bitterly asked.

“No,” Lydia responded. “Derek might never come back to Beacon Hills. We may never see him again. But I think he wants to let you grow up. That he wants you to make mistakes, to experience heartbreaks. I think he knew that if he did go for you, he’d never let you go.”

“I think you’ve watched one too many romantic comedies,” Stiles weakly replied.

“I think you haven’t been paying attention to who Derek is,” Lydia replied. “I’m not saying you don’t know him, because out of all of us, I’m pretty sure you know him best. What I’m saying is that I don’t think you’ve thought about his past track record with dating all that much.”

Stiles moved the bowl of popcorn from his lap to set it on the coffee table, suddenly wishing he never laid eyes on food as he felt the knot in his stomach start to form. Whenever he thought about Derek, this always happened. He never had the closure he wanted and it was killing him to think of Derek, living in a loft apartment somewhere in New York, all by himself. _Alone_.

“Derek’s an abuse survivor—maybe even a sexual abuse survivor,” Lydia explained. “Kate seduced him as a teenager. She manipulated him and then dropped him once she was done. He’s been victim blaming himself ever since then. Then Ms. Blake”—Lydia’s tone sounded as if she really wanted to say ‘Ms. Strangling-Psycho-Bitch’—“used him as a literal shield against a pack of Alphas. You said yourself that he looked utterly crushed after what you and Scott told him. He took a chance and she turned out to be another manipulating psycho who used him and hurt his pack.

“Then he now has Braeden, who so far had shown her loyalty to us because we financially supported her. That could be argued as not being a loving, romantic relationship, but it is a relationship a victim like Derek can feel safe and happy with. Braeden doesn’t lie to him, but tells him everything upfront.”

“I never thought about that,” Stiles weakly replied.

“I’m not saying he does love you, Stiles,” Lydia explained, wanting to make sure she wasn’t giving him false hope. “I’m saying that he does care about you, at least as pack. But maybe your confession scared him. Maybe he panicked and didn’t know what to do because he thought it was going to end the same way.”

“But I’m nothing like them!” Stiles yelled. He felt his heart breaking all over again. He prayed that Derek didn’t see him in the same light as Kate and Ms. Blake. He only ever wanted to care for Derek, to be there for him, and he couldn’t stand the thought that Derek might actually see him as a threat.

“I know. And I’m sure Derek does know that. But it takes a lot to trust someone. You told me that, for a long time after your mother died, you wanted to never fall in love. Because you were afraid of losing that person and feeling the heartbreak your dad went through,” Lydia paused, waiting for Stiles to nod in response. “Maybe Derek is just as terrified of getting close enough to someone, for fear that they really don’t love him or that he might lose them. You did say that he lost his high school girlfriend. And then practically his whole family.”

“Oh God,” Stiles rubbed a hand over his features. “Lyds, what do I do?”

“Derek isn’t asking you to hold out for him,” Lydia explained. “I think it’s time you tried to move passed it. Passed one night stands. Passed the heartbreak of crushes. I think it’s time you start living for Stiles Stilinski.”

Stiles looked at Lydia, searching her face for reassurance that he _could_ start living a life solely for himself and not pining after someone else. He hesitantly nodded, knowing that he had to somehow move on from the past.

But somehow, Stiles knew that going back to Beacon Hills for the summer wasn’t going to help him accomplish that. His fears were confirmed when a banging knock on the loft door interrupting the first pack meeting of the summer. Stiles offered to get the door, easily taking the stairs quickly.

"Lycanthropy Anonymous," Stiles sarcastically answered as he slid the door open. His body froze when he saw that it was Derek leaning against the doorframe. It took him a second to take in Derek's appearance.

Derek was panting heavily, his jacket and shirt nearly torn to shreds from claw marks. He was bloodied and beaten, and if Stiles was correct in guessing, about to go unconscious.

"Derek?" Stiles finally found his voice, shock and confusion mixed with concern.

Derek merely murmured "Sti ..." as he fell forward unconscious.

Stiles nearly lunged forward, allowing Derek's body to slam into his.  _Didn't think that through!_ He panicked as all two-hundred pounds of broody, unconscious and bleeding werewolf nearly knocked him off balance.

"Scott!" Stiles yelled for assistance, easing Derek to the ground.

Of all the ways he imagined Derek falling into his arms, this was not one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The nail polish Lydia is wearing when her and Stiles go to the club is ([x](http://www.washingtonpost.com/news/morning-mix/wp/2014/08/26/students-develop-nail-polish-to-detect-date-rape-drugs/))
> 
> This chapter also deals with Stiles having some magic properties, mainly having psychic intuition when it comes to knowing something bad is going to happen, or being able to converse with the dead during the haunting hour (the lost hour between midnight and one).
> 
> Here is a little [post](http://drunklightning.tumblr.com/post/117486703294/i-was-driving-along-the-highway-when-i-saw-a-sign) that I made about a photo I took of the exit for Brandeis. Because I'm weird :P


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a 3 hour drive ahead of me and decided, I'll just post the next chapter without reading through and editing it. I'll go back and fix any typos later. Until then, enjoy!
> 
> P.S. Song Stiles dances to in the club is "Howl" by Florence + the Machine
> 
> P.S.S. **Important Note about the Wendigo:** I have not watched season 4 of Teen Wolf, however I have seen the finale which this fic is based off of. I will most likely not be watching season 4 unless I somehow get gifted it or access it for free, because I refuse to give MTV anything. It has come to my attention that Wendigos are in some season 4 episodes/one of the creatures. For all intents and purposes, this Wendigo is like the one in season 1 of Supernatural. Also, I suppose--in this fic--nobody in Beacon Hills has had a run in with Wendigos. So, wipe that from your mind (more suspension of disbelief for Adolescent Lycanthropes).

“Blood, there’s a lot of blood,” Stiles stated as he looked at his hands. He was panicking, his breath catching in this throat as he watched Scott and Liam carry Derek over to the table near the window.

Malia effortlessly shoved all the papers and books off the table to make room for Derek’s body. Lydia’s heels clicked loudly as she ran down the stairs, a first aid kit in her hands.

“Get his shirt off!” Lydia yelled as she came over.

Scott leaned Derek up far enough for Kira to slip Derek’s leather jacket off, revealing the deep wounds decorating his left arm.

“It’s like he was holding something at bay,” Scott commented as he set Derek back against the table. He effortlessly ripped Derek’s already ruined shirt the rest of the way off, giving Lydia a better look at his battered torso.

“Is he breathing?” Stiles asked as he moved closer.

“Barely,” Scott commented.

“Stiles, check his legs for wounds,” Lydia instructed. “Scott, apply pressure to his chest. That wound looks the worst.”

Scott took the towel from Lydia as he pressed down on the three deep claw marks in Derek’s chest. Stiles scanned Derek’s legs, inspecting his jeans before he informed Lydia that his legs looked fine.

“Okay. Lift his left arm above his heart, it will help slow the bleeding,” Lydia instructed.

Stiles moved to Derek’s side, picking up his arm. He felt Lydia’s eyes linger on him as he slid his hand into Derek’s, almost cradling his arm against his chest. _I don’t care if you yell at me for it. If he’s going to die, I’m holding his hand_ , Stiles reasoned.

“Make sure you keep holding it there,” Lydia stated.

“Lydia, it’s bleeding through the towel,” Scott commented as he continued to apply pressure.

“Kira, can you call Melissa?” Lydia asked.

“Sure,” Kira ran over to where their take-out food and phones were all scattered across the coffee table.

“Shouldn’t we take him to the hospital?” Malia asked.

“What if he came here because he doesn’t want to go to the hospital?” Liam inquired.

“We can’t move him anyways,” Lydia informed them. “Stiles, you should call your dad.”

“I’m kind of busy holding a bleeding arm,” Stiles replied, holding Derek’s arm higher. He wasn’t going to admit to Lydia that he didn’t want to leave Derek’s side. That he didn’t want to let go of his hand.

“Malia,” Lydia turned to face her as she continued to fumble with the first aid kit.

“I’ll call the Sheriff,” Malia stated as she made her way over to Kira, who tossed her Stiles’ phone when she was close enough.

“Why isn’t he healing?” Stiles finally asked.

“Could be an Alpha?” Liam asked.

“No, the scent on him,” Scott shook his head as he spoke. “It’s not a were-creature. It’s something else. Whatever got those joggers.” He was uncertain, but his wolf was telling him whatever happened to Derek was connected to the recent murders they were helping the Sheriff investigate.

“You think Derek was out in the preserve trying to find it?” Stiles asked.

“Possibly,” Scott replied.

“Did you—did you know he was back?” Stiles asked Scott.

“No, Stiles. I didn’t,” Scott replied, looking at Stiles for the first time.

“None of us know why he’s back,” Lydia added as she tried to mop up some of Derek’s blood.

“I do,” the Sheriff’s voice made Stiles turn to look at him.

“Dad? How did you get here so fast?” Stiles questioned when he looked at Malia, who only shrugged.

“Derek called me,” John explained as he made room for Mrs. McCall—still in her scrubs—to enter the loft, an adequate sized medical kit in her hands.

“Mom?” Scott looked at Kira, who mimicked Malia’s same confused gesture.

“John picked me up from the hospital when Derek called him.”

“What did he say?” Stiles inquired.

“He said that whatever’s been killing those joggers is something supernatural, not a mountain lion,” John explained as he moved closer to inspect Derek.

“Derek would have been able to kill a mountain lion,” Scott stated.

“He was attacked in the middle of our conversation,” John explained. “He didn’t get to finish. All he said was that he was headed to the loft to warn you guys. I figured, Derek Hale of all people, would find a way to crawl here if he had to.”

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows as he looked at Derek. _What the hell where you doing? Why are you back, you idiot?_

“Dad, hold his arm,” Stiles stated, offering Derek’s arm to his father. The Sheriff hesitated before holding Derek’s arm up.

“What are you doing, kiddo?” John asked as he observed Stiles suddenly rummaging through Derek’s pockets.

“Now is not the time to grope him,” Malia mused.

“Ha-ha,” Stiles sarcastically responded, trying to fight the blush creeping onto his cheeks. “He doesn’t have his phone,” he announced as he dove for Derek’s discarded jacket. “It’s not in his jacket either.”

“So, he lost it. I don’t think I could hold onto my phone if I got attacked,” Liam stated.

“Which means that it’s—”

“—Still out there where he got attacked,” the Sheriff finished Stiles’ sentence for him.

“Exactly,” Stiles smiled as he patted his dad on the back. “Or Derek planted it on the thing. It wouldn’t be the first time he did this.” He recalled how Derek made sure his phone was on him when Kate kidnapped him. “Either way, we have a lead.” He started to turn to head for the loft door when his father grabbed him by his collar.

“Hold it,” John stated. “You’re not going anywhere,” he offered Stiles Derek’s arm back as he spoke.

Stiles reluctantly took Derek’s arm back. “I don’t want you going either.”

“I’m going to call it in. Hopefully, they’ll be able to turn his GPS on and track it.”

“Alright, I’m going to have to stitch him up,” Melissa interrupted their conversation as she finished inspecting Derek’s chest.

“I’ll take his arm,” Lydia offered to Stiles.

“I’m fine,” Stiles argued. He felt multiple sets of eyes on him before he questioned, “What?”

“Stiles, you faint from seeing needles,” John stated.

“I’m better now,” Stiles lied.

“Dude, you passed out when I got my tattoo,” Scott explained. “And that’s just a needle hitting the surface of the skin.”

“I said I’m fine,” Stiles said in a sterner voice, tightening his hold on Derek’s hand.

“Son,” John gently said as he placed his hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

“I don’t want to be useless,” Stiles murmured.

“I’ll do it,” John offered, knowing the true reason why was because he didn’t want to leave Derek’s side.

Stiles looked up at his dad, surprised that his father was offering and not just waiting for him to inevitably faint. All he saw in his father’s eyes was understanding, and he knew he was in danger of wearing his heart on his sleeve even more than usual now that Derek’s life hung in the balance.

Stiles slowly relinquished his hold on Derek’s arm. He slipped his fingers from Derek’s hand last, not wanting to let go of him. He nodded to his dad as he backed away.

“Let’s get him some clothes for when he wakes up,” Kira’s voice came from behind Stiles.

Stiles weakly nodded.

“You get in the house, grab what you need and then head straight back,” John instructed them as they headed for the door.

“We can go with them,” Malia offered as she gestured to herself and Liam.

“I think we might need you,” Melissa stated as she leaned back from inspecting Derek.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked, moving back over to the table.

“Whatever this thing was, it broke its nails off in him,” Melissa explained as she looked up at the Sheriff.

“That’s probably why he’s not healing,” Scott explained.

“St … Scott …” Derek’s eyes were barely opened as he tried to speak.

“Derek?” Stiles called his name when he heard his voice.

“Hey, I’m here,” Scott suddenly stated as he leaned down to get close enough to Derek to hear him.

“Don’t let … St … Make … stay …”

“Derek, I don’t understand,” Scott stated in a hurry.

“Scott, I need to get these claws out if we want him to heal,” Melissa explained. She pulled out a pair of medical pliers before looking at the others. “You’re going to have to hold him down,” she added.

“Derek, don’t attack us,” Scott stated as he pressed down on his shoulder.

Stiles stood by Kira, staring from a distance because he was uncertain what else he could do.

Derek’s entire body tensed as he let out a pained roar, his body arching up off the table as Melissa struggled with pulling one of the claws out of Derek’s torso.

“Malia! Liam!” Scott yelled their names. “Derek, try to hold still!” His eyes were glowing red, trying to make Derek’s wolf hear him.

Malia and Liam moved closer to the table, lending help as they tried to hold Derek down by restraining his torso.

“Stiles, Kira, go!” John yelled at them.

Kira grabbed Stiles by the hand, pulling him out of the loft.

After Melissa removed the third claw, Derek’s body finally fell into unconsciousness. Melissa checked his vitals, guaranteeing the others that he was fine before stitching up his wounds. Lydia helped Melissa as she silently focused on cleaning the blood off of Derek. When they were finished, Scott and Liam carried Derek off of the table and into the bed.

“This doesn’t feel right,” the Sheriff stated as he continued to look out of the windows.

“What do you mean?” Scott asked as he joined him.

“Stiles and Kira should be back by now,” John replied. “I don’t like it.”

“Scott,” Melissa called his name, pulling his attention away from the Sheriff.

“What is it, mom?” Scott asked as he took a few steps towards her.

“Honey, I think … whatever this thing was, it did that to Derek on purpose,” Melissa explained, holding up one of the claws.

“Considering he was almost dead, I’m glad it failed,” Scott replied.

“No, I think it wounded him on purpose. I don’t think it was trying to kill him,” Melissa replied. “Look at the cuticle,” she held the claw up in the light for Scott to see. “It’s not broken. If this think lodged its nails in Derek and its claws broke off when he tried to get away, there would be a break. This is smooth.” She waited for Scott to take a close look at them. “Honey, whatever this thing was, it _left_ its claws in Derek on purpose.”

“St…” Derek’s mumbled something incoherently. “Sti … les.”

“Scott,” Lydia called his name as she backed away from Derek. “Scott, something’s wrong.” She hurried over to him. “Derek just called Stiles’ name.”

“What if that thing wanted to preoccupy us with Derek?” Melissa questioned.

“What if it …” Lydia suddenly froze, a feeling of dread building up in her chest. She felt the scream tearing its way out of her lungs, catching in her throat. It wasn’t a prediction of death, she wouldn’t let it be. She snatched the claws away from Scott, holding them in her cupped hands.

“Lydia?” Scott questioned as everyone stared at her.

“Scott,” Lydia’s voice croaked as she spoke his name. Her eyes were glued on the claws, focusing as if they had completely consumed her. “Kira. Stiles. Wendigo. Wendigo. Wendigo.” She started to have her breath catch in her throat when the scream suddenly ripped its way out of her throat.

Once the scream subsided, Malia moved forward, capturing Lydia as her body collapsed. She gently held her before looking up at Scott, fear and confusion at the situation.

“Liam, you’re with me,” Scott stated. “That thing is going after Kira and Stiles. Malia, you stay here and protect them,” he motioned towards the others.

Malia gave him a confirming nod as she helped Lydia to a seat. Her eyes flickered over to the Sheriff when he moved towards Scott.

“Mr. Stilinski—” Scott began, only to be cut off by the Sheriff’s gesture for him not to speak.

“That’s my son. It’s my fault that Derek was involved in the first place,” the Sheriff explained. “But I’m not going to allow that thing to hurt Stiles too.”

“Alright,” Scott nodded before nodding for Liam to follow him. 

~0~0~0~0~0~

Stiles didn’t know what to think right now. Derek just dropped back into his life, literally. He didn’t agree with Kira when she pulled him out of the loft, the sound of Derek’s yells following him. They both rode to his house in silence, the only constant noise came from Stiles drumming his fingers against the wheel. Kira offered words of comfort, reassuring Stiles that they would come back to an awake, perhaps cheerful Derek. Stiles had to actually fight back a laugh as he pictured a _smiling_ , bandaged Derek.

Stiles silently rummaged through his drawers, looking for something big enough to fit Derek’s shoulders. He ultimately discovered the shirt Derek had once borrowed. He snatched his bag quickly stuffing the shirt and a pair of sweatpants inside it. He paused when he noticed the sweater folded up and resting on his desk. He recalled how Lydia gave it back to him, telling him that it would be a big step for him to get rid of the sweater himself. He hesitated before snatching the sweater as he exited him room, cramming it into his bag as well.

Stiles saw Kira at the bottom of the stairs, zippering the bag as he descended the steps. He hesitated when he heard a sudden thud come from his room. He knew he wasn’t imagining things when Kira looked up at him.

“Crap,” Stiles stated. “You heard that too, huh?”

“It’s probably nothing,” Kira replied as she drew her sword.

“Drawing your weapon does not reassure me that it’s nothing,” Stiles stated as he allowed Kira to walk passed him, heading up the stairs.

“Keep behind me,” Kira replied as she made her way up. She strategically placed her feet to avoid making the floorboards creak under her weight. She turned her head to keep an eye on Stiles as she rounded the railing to come face to face with his bedroom door. She immediately halted when she saw a figure flicker by in a shadow. There was a loud banging sound, as if something was rummaging through the things in Stiles’ room.

Stiles’ eyes widened as he stared up at Kira. He wanted to yell at her that they should make a run for it, but he also knew that the thing would definitely hear him. He was thankful when Kira jerked her head to the side, signaling Stiles to head back down the stairs. He started to slowly move, his heart fiercely beating against his chest. The noise from his room suddenly stopped, causing Stiles to hesitate on the stairs.

A sudden roar ripped through the house, causing Stiles to cover his ears in reaction.

“Run!” Kira yelled at Stiles as she winced from the noise level.

Stiles took the steps two at a time, bolting for the door when something grabbed his bag. He flailed as a supernatural force tore him backwards, sending him across the hallway and into the wall. The force punched the air out of his lungs, causing him to wheeze as he struggled to get to his feet. He looked up, his eyes widening in fear when he finally saw the creature looming by the bottom of the stairs.

Stiles pushed backwards, trying to scurry his way down the hallway and outside. The creature roared again, throwing its head backwards as it bared its claws.

“Stiles! Run!” Kira yelled as she lunged towards the creature, slashing her sword at it. She stumbled to the side when her blade merely bounced off of the creature’s skin. She was taken aback by the result before quickly blocking the creature’s swipe at her. She did her best to push the creature back, deflecting and corralling it back into the living room.

Stiles stumbled forward, catching Kira as she fell backwards when the creature managed to claw Kira’s leg.

“We can’t beat it,” Stiles explained as he pulled her up. He placed her arm over his shoulders as he started moving towards the kitchen, hoping to duck out there. He was ripped away from Kira when something clutched his back tightly, yanking him backwards.

“Stiles!” Kira yelled as she fell down, clutching her leg.

Stiles flailed, thrashing his arms and legs about in an attempt to fight off the creature. Another roar was released, but this time, it was a comforting sound that almost made Stiles relax. _Scott …_

A sudden shot rang out, causing Stiles to curl his legs up to his chest, an attempt to make himself smaller. He heard the creature roar in protest before crashing through the door and out into the night.

“Stiles!” His father’s voice called, a pair of familiar hands grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Dad,” Stiles sighed in relief, embracing him tightly. “Is Kira—” He turned his head to see Scott lifting Kira up in his arms.

Kira looked at Stiles, reassuringly smiling at him. “I’m okay,” she stated.

Stiles weakly nodded, picking up his bag with slightly trembling hands.

“Next time, take your phones,” Scott almost sighed in exasperation. He was confused when he dialed both Kira’s and Stiles’ phones, only to have Malia answer both times. “Let’s get out of here before that thing comes back.”

“Whatever that thing is … it wasn’t trying to kill me,” Stiles suddenly stated.

“What do you mean?” John asked as he stood up with Stiles.

“It attacked Kira because she got in the way,” Stiles explained.

“It moved right by me to get to Stiles,” Kira almost murmured as she understood what Stiles was getting at.

“It was trying to take me with it,” Stiles replied, fighting the bile that threatened to rise up from his stomach.

“All the more reason to get you out of here, kiddo,” his father stated.

It felt like an eternity before they finally reached the loft again. Scott entered through the door, carrying Kira in his arms. He brought her over to the table, laying her down on it.

“I’ll heal,” Kira stated reassuringly. “It just clawed my leg.”

Melissa smiled reassuringly as she glanced over Kira’s leg. She twisted it slightly before she squinted. “Another claw,” she stated.

“A wendigo’s claws are poisonous,” Lydia stated as she descended the spiral staircase. “It’s how they wound animals that could pose a threat. Tries to immobilize them, like the kanima did.” She held a book in her hands, reading as she walked over to join the rest of the pack.

“Maybe that’s why I’m not healing,” Kira mused as she winced when Melissa pulled the claw out of her calf.

“Stiles,” Lydia smiled when she saw Stiles walk in with his father.

“I’m okay,” Stiles replied. “Kira took all of the damage.”

“It kept trying to grab Stiles,” Kira informed.

Stiles ignored the rest of the group banter as they tried to brainstorm what the creature—wendigo—wanted, with Stiles in particular. He moved closer to the bed, watching Derek’s unconscious form as his chest slowly rose and fell. He felt someone come stand behind him, but he didn’t care if they saw how he was looking at Derek.

“He started healing once Melissa got the claws out,” Lydia’s voice informed him. “Someone has to stay with him and watch over him. I said I’d take first watch, if you want to take second.”

Stiles turned around to look at her. Lydia watched Stiles carefully, her eyes conveying that she understood what Stiles was going through and that she was willing to let him have this.

“Lyds—”

“Don’t,” Lydia held up a hand to silence him. “I know. Now go rest. I’ll come get you when it’s your turn.”

Stiles nodded, offering her a small smile before walking back over to join the others. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before Lydia’s gentle hand on his shoulder woke him. He blinked several times as he sat up, yawning as he took in his location. He realized he was still in the loft when he was suddenly hit by remembering that Derek was here. _Derek’s back in Beacon Hills_.

“It’s your turn,” Lydia almost whispered.

Stiles looked around, noting how Malia and Liam were sitting back to back, both asleep with their heads resting on each other’s shoulders. Kira was curled up against Scott’s chest, her head tucked gently under his chin as they both slept. Stiles looked at Lydia and noticed she was already taking his place on the couch.

“Thanks for keeping it warm,” Lydia smiled as she stole the pillow from him.

Stiles faintly smiled as he made his way over to Derek’s bed. He noticed Lydia had set up a chair next to the bed, a small amount of books piled against one of its legs. He took a seat by the bed, noticing that Derek was still shirtless, only in his jeans. _I risked my life for you to remain shirtless. Attractive bastard_ , he thought as he gently wrung his hands.

Of all the ways Stiles anticipated their reunion, none were like this. He never expected to be sitting by a bedside, watching as Derek unconsciously recovered. His eyes fell over the jagged stitches across Derek’s arm, beginning to look like someone just decided to feed thread through his skin. _Not like it’s holding him together_.

Stiles began to reach his hand out to touch the disappearing wounds, hesitating as he thought about the repercussions. He shook his head, ignoring all warnings that he shouldn’t. A sharp jolt of warmth ran through him the moment his fingertips touched Derek’s arm.

The thread from the stitches was coarse under Stiles’ touch, not belonging with Derek’s surprisingly soft skin. He leaned forward, gently placing his arms and chin on the side of the bed as his fingers idly brushed against the hair on Derek’s forearm. His thoughts wandered as he thought about where Derek had been, what stories he now had, and ultimately, why he came back. He gently slid his hand into Derek’s thinking about how this could have been. How this small gesture could have been something so much more.

Stiles turned his head to the side, committing to memory the sight of Derek’s fingers interlocking with his. He never wanted to forget the comforting feeling of his hand safely resting in Derek’s. He wasn’t sure how long past before he started to feel Derek’s fingers moving against his.

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice was faint, almost hopeful.

Stiles head jerked up immediately. He stared at Derek in surprise and joy. “Hey, hey. Yeah, it’s me,” he announced as he leaned forward some, looking into Derek’s eyes.

“It’s a wendigo. It’s after—”

“Me. I know,” Stiles stated, hoping Derek would calm some.

“How?” Derek’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“It attacked us. It kept trying to bring me with it, but we fought it off,” Stiles explained.

“I tried to tell Scott,” Derek explained. “Before Melissa started tearing the claws out.”

“Lydia figured that out once we got back.” Stiles smiled some when he recalled Lydia smacking him upside the head when he made a snarky comment about it being typical of a banshee to figure it out too late. ”But we’re all here at the loft now,” his voice was soft, trying to put Derek at ease. “We’re waiting for you to get better, okay? So no being stubborn and walking around.”

Derek released a small, vaguely annoyed huff, and Stiles couldn’t help but smile at that. Even after almost dying, Derek was still the ever-cocky werewolf. Stiles felt a nervousness grow through him when he realized his hand was still clasped tightly to Derek’s.  _Maybe if I just act like I need to pick something up …_ Stiles tried to devise a way to slip his hand from Derek’s without calling attention to it when Derek’s grip on Stiles tightened. He looked down at their hands before looking back at Derek.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Derek’s eyes were closed as he spoke. He looked relaxed, almost comfortable with Stiles’ hand in his as he started to drift off to sleep.

Stiles was thankful Derek’s eyes were closed as his cheeks began to heat up. _Derek’s letting me hold his hand … God help me_.

Stiles was right when he thought that it was a sign that things wouldn’t be as strained as they once were. A few days passed, Derek arguing with Stiles about being able to move to the couch or even the bathroom without assistance. Stiles argued back that he was still ill, no doubt thanks to the wendigo’s claws. The arguing was reminiscent of everything prior to La Iglesias, prior to when they became awkward around one another. Derek even started shooting him his typical glares whenever Stiles pushed his buttons, which Stiles constantly started doing because of how much he missed them.

In those few days, Stiles received bits and pieces of Derek’s past year, hearing stories about him traveling down to see Cora before heading to Europe to check in on Isaac and Jackson. How he ultimately ended up in New York. Stiles always became anxious whenever Derek would speak as if he was always by himself, dying to ask about Braeden.

Regardless, it was all, for lack of a better word, perfect. It was everything Stiles hoped it would turn out to be, even if he still had his feelings for Derek clawing to get to the surface.

Everything was perfect until the day they planned on attacking the wendigo head on. That was the day everything, including Stiles, came crumbling down.

“What happened?” Scott questioned as he burst through the loft door. He paused in his steps, observing Stiles standing behind Derek.

Derek was sitting on the table by the window, leaning on his hands as he allowed his head to hang, giving Stiles access to his neck.

Stiles was standing by the table, his hands busily inspecting the base of Derek’s neck. Both of them looked up at Scott, similar expressions of surprise.

“Hey, Scotty,” Stiles greeted him as he turned his attention back to Derek.

“You sounded terrified,” Scott explained as he moved forward.

“Sorry, that wendigo thing is more terrifying when it gets up close and personal,” Stiles explained. “Sorry,” he apologized when Derek winced.

“It’s fine,” Derek murmured.

“What happened to Derek?” Kira asked as she moved to stand beside Scott.

“He, uh, shoved me out of the way,” Stiles explained. “The thing sunk its claws in his neck and then bolted when Derek nearly ripped open its ribcage,” he made a repulsed facial expression at whatever it was he was doing to Derek’s neck.

“I thought wendigos are pretty much everything proof?” Scott asked.

“Stiles threw some powdered mistletoe in its face,” Derek explained. Stiles looked up at Scott from behind Derek’s shoulder, beaming with pride. “Pissed it off, but weakened and distracted it long enough that I got an actual hit in.”

“Since when did you carry powdered mistletoe around?” Scott questioned, moving over to stand next to Stiles.

“Since wendigos started wanting to consume my adorable ass,” Stiles retorted. “Alright, I think I can pull the claw out, Derek,” he changed his attention back to Derek.

“Do—,” Derek started, groaning when Stiles didn’t wait to yank the claw out. “Thanks,” he sounded monotone as he spoke, running a hand over his neck, feeling the deep gash slowly healing.

“No problem,” Stiles almost mumbled. He stopped his hand from moving to touch Derek’s shoulder, noticing what he was about to do. He nearly flailed when Scott’s hand clamped down on his shoulder, offering him a small, understanding smile.

“We need to kill that thing,” Derek stated, sliding off the table as he grabbed his shirt. “It’s wounded, thanks to the mistletoe. If we wait any longer, it could get stronger or actually succeed in getting Stiles.”

“It seems like it’s given up on going after other people besides Stiles,” Kira commented.

“I suppose that the only good thing about it coming after Stiles.”

“I guess that’s a positive,” Stiles stated. “Still don’t know why it’s after me.”

“I have a clue,” Lydia’s voice came from the loft door. “I found something that may help.”

“I thought we found everything we could?” Kira inquired.

“I … I went and talked with Peter,” Lydia admitted. No one missed the twin growls that came from both Scott and Derek. “If you are fighting a cannibal psycho, why not ask a crazed blood-thirsty psycho, right? Anyways,” she walked further into the loft as she spoke. “He said that a wendigo hibernates. They do it for years, which is why when people go missing in the woods—”

“It’s accounted to mountain lion attacks,” Stiles finished.

“Correct,” Lydia stated as she crossed her arms. “So they store their food. They take it back to their hideouts to keep for later.”

“Oh, that’s gross,” Stiles suddenly commented. “It wants to store me for later? I’m boney!” He totally didn’t fixate on the fact that Derek lightly chuckled at his observation.

“Maybe it needs toothpicks,” Derek commented.

“Regardless,” Scott stated as he clasped a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “We’re not letting that thing eat you.”

“Appreciate that,” Stiles deadpans.

“Let’s get all the gear together and go over the plan one more time. Then we head out and finish it off,” Scott stated as Malia and Liam entered the loft, both carrying duffle bags full of weapons from Deaton.

They continued to brainstorm the pros and cons of heading after the wendigo when Scott finally asked one last time, “But why does it want Stiles?”

Derek’s eye roll almost made Stiles laugh in response. “It caught his scent,” he stated, annoyed that Scott was asking for the millionth time.

“How, though?” Scott asked.

Derek looked at Stiles, frowning slightly, as if he knew something he shouldn’t and was hesitant to tell the others about.

“Erica and Boyd’s graves,” Derek finally revealed.

Stiles frowned when he felt several pairs of eyes on him. He looked at the ground, feeling his skin heat up as the blush flooded his face.

“I only went a few times. During our vacations back,” Stiles explained.

“What we’ve seen is that the wendigo only hunts at night. Your scent must have lingered there for a while,” Scott’s eyebrows furrowed as he spoke.

“I went at midnight,” Stiles confessed as he clenched his eyes shut.

“You what?” Lydia asked in shock. “You went out to the preserve at midnight? Alone?”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles apologized as he turned to face her. “I had to talk—” He cut himself off, biting his bottom lip in response.

“Talk?” Kira arched her eyebrow in question.

“Oh, Stiles,” Lydia’s voice was the one that broke the building tension. “You didn’t,” she started moving closer to him. “Tell me you didn’t perform that ritual.”

“I didn’t,” Stiles replied in guarantee.

“I’m sorry, I’m lost,” Malia stated.

“After Erica and Boyd’s deaths, Stiles searched for a way to talk to them,” Lydia explained as she moved to Stiles’ side.

“That’s really dangerous,” Kira commented.

“I know,” Stiles almost barked in response as he stared at the ground. “I just—I couldn’t leave things the way they were. I missed them.” He tightened his grip on his arm as he thought about all the times he flailed himself awake, thinking that he heard Erica’s voice fondly taunting him.

Lydia gently rubbed her hand across Stiles’ shoulders. “I know,” she gently whispered to him. “Anyways, he found a spell,” she decided to take over the story from there. “Some pretty dark stuff, actually. But, when Stiles told me, we agreed to leave it alone.”

Everyone nodded, agreeing that it was a wise choice.

“I found something else I didn’t tell you about,” Stiles finally admitted as he looked up through his eyelashes at Lydia.

“What did you do?” Lydia’s voice was stern as she spoke.

“It’s called the haunting hour,” Stiles explained. “A lot of cultures used to think that there was a forgotten, lost hour. An hour in between midnight and one, that was taken over by the spirits of the dead. It’s a time in between that allows someone with psychic powers to communicate with the dead.

“It was a long shot, and I didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up. The first time I tried it, it was beginning of senior year. I went into the preserve, and I waited by their graves … I heard Erica’s voice and it scared me, so I bolted. But I … I went back over Thanksgiving. I went again at the beginning of the summer. I didn’t realize the thing was stalking humans. I just …” Stiles looked up at Lydia, his eyes flickering to everyone else, avoiding Derek at all costs. “I just wanted to be able to tell them about my first year. I wanted them to know that they weren’t forgotten.” He let the tears sting his eyes, every word hitting his chest like a nail in a coffin. It hurt to realize that what he was doing was a risk, but it was a risk to himself, and wasn’t that okay? It was okay because he was just jeopardizing himself.

“Stiles, you should have told us,” Lydia started.

“It was dangerous to go out there alone,” Scott replied. “But … I get why you did.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles weakly replied.

“Did you …” Derek’s voice broke off when he realized the others looked at him as well.

Stiles looked at Derek, taking in his pleading look and knowing exactly what he was asking. “Yeah,” he nodded in understanding. “She said you’re a stubborn ass.” He faintly smiled when he saw a small smile tug at the corners of Derek’s mouth.

“Sounds about right,” Derek murmured.

“Alright,” Scott turned his attention back to the others, trying to give Stiles and Derek a moment of privacy.

Stiles turned his body away from them, moving to stand closer to Derek. “She’s about as talkative as you are,” he stated.

“She was the sociable one,” Derek replied. “Always dealing with people because she was afraid I’d throw them through a wall.”

“I have a feeling she would have punched me,” Stiles stated. He felt Derek’s eyes on him as he turned to look. “Oh, come on. You know she would have probably liked to punch me. I’m very punchable.”

Derek let out a small laugh in the form of a huff. “Can’t argue with you there,” he commented.

“Hey,” Stiles mocked being hurt as he softly punched Derek’s arm.

Derek turned his head to look at Stiles, giving him a friendly ‘do-you-want-me-to-punch-you’ face.

“I take it back, don’t punch me,” Stiles replied as he turned to observe Scott and the others.

Derek only shook his head in amusement.

“I could take you with me one time,” Stiles suddenly offered. “If you want. I could be a translator or something.”

“That … that’d be really great,” Derek stated. “I’d like that.”

“Okay,” Stiles smiled when Derek looked at him. “I’ll keep all the explicit language and everything.”

Derek released a faint laugh. “Thank you, Stiles. That … that means a lot.” He ducked his head, avoiding eye contact with Stiles before he made his way into the kitchen. It was the first time Derek actually had gone into the kitchen to get something, faintly reminiscent of all the times Derek provided food and beverages to everyone during pack meetings. _Like he’s our Alpha … always providing._

Before long, Derek returned with mugs of coffee and tea for everyone. He handed them to everyone, giving them a slight nod when they all smiled up at him in surprise. Stiles was stuck staring at the mug when Derek offered him one. He looked up at Derek, noticing how his eyebrows were lifting in question, uncertain why Stiles wasn’t making a move.

“I didn’t poison it,” Derek commented. “I’d find another way to kill you.”

“Like ripping my throat out via your teeth?” Stiles offered as he finally took the mug from Derek.

“Something like that,” Derek stated as he moved towards the table. He was standing with the others when the shattering of a mug against the floor caused them all to turn and look at Stiles.

Stiles was staring at the ground—more precisely, he was staring at the now shattered mug, hot liquid covering the ground. His breathing was heavy, his body slightly shaking for some unknown reason.

“Stiles?” Scott’s voice called his name. “What’s wrong?”

“I—I, um,” Stiles’ voice shook as he tried to think of a reason. “I have to … Bathroom,” he suddenly stated, rushing towards the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time.

Stiles slammed the door shut behind him, locking it as he grasped the counter. His arms trembled as he stared at his reflection. _Get it together_ , he yelled at himself. _Oh God. I can’t do this, I can’t do this!_

Stiles’ breathing was heavy as his vision blurred from the tears forming. “I can’t … I can’t …” He released a faint sob, covering his face with his hands as he backed against the wall.

“Stiles?” Scott’s voice softly called his name. “Stiles, are you okay?”

Stiles forced himself to reach for the handle, the metal feeling dangerously cold under his skin. He gently turned the knob, forcing the lock to pop loudly, signaling its release. He waited for Scott to open the door, backing away from it.

Scott slowly moved, closing the door behind him. He moved to stand in front of Stiles, placing his hands on his hips as he watched his best friend hide his face from him. “Stiles, what’s going on?” He asked.

“It’s stupid,” Stiles finally uttered. “I’m stupid.”

“No, you’re not,” Scott sighed, standing his ground as he waited for Stiles to say something.

“Honey,” Stiles managed to keep his voice from cracking as he spoke.

“Honey?” Scott asked. “What—” he stopped speaking immediately when he realized what Stiles meant. _Derek must have put honey in his tea … shit_ , he thought as he gently rubbed the back of his neck.

Stiles felt a wave of relief when Scott didn’t press for more. He finally pulled his hands from his face, looking up at his friend. “I just … I can’t.”

Scott didn’t hesitate when he moved forward, pulling Stiles into a tight hug. He patted his back, an attempt to reassure him that everything would be okay. “I’m sorry. I’m sure Derek didn’t mean to freak you out,” he offered.

“I know,” Stiles replied. “But I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.” He let a small sob shudder through his body. “I don’t know if I can handle thinking he just did it because he’s used to it. Like it’s a chore. Like it doesn’t mean anything.”

“I’m positive he did it because he knows you can’t drink tea without honey,” Scott explained. “Because he knows you like it like that.”

Stiles didn’t respond as he let Scott comfort him. He took a few moments to collect himself before heading back down with Scott. He apologized to everyone, explaining that he was overrun by adrenaline from the wendigo’s attack. He caught a glimpse of Derek’s frown at his lie. _He knows I’m lying … But why would he care?_

~0~0~0~0~0~

 _Why the hell do we have a club on the outskirts of town? Near the woods? Perfect hunting ground for a serial killer. Or a murdering supernatural creature that wants to eat your flesh!_ Stiles’ mind was racing as he moved across the dance floor. He knew he was the bait, so the best idea was to stay within eyesight of everyone. He wished the wendigo had stuck to its cave, keeping the danger solely to the pack and itself. But it had the idea of running off and slinking into this club. _Just like Jackson_ , he groaned inwardly, not understanding why a creature would aim to kill and maim in a public area.

Scott and Kira stationed themselves by the bar, pretending to be flirting as one of them constantly kept an eye on Stiles. Liam and Malia were dancing off to the side, Malia constantly shoving someone off of her as they crowded in too close, struggling to keep an eye on Stiles. Derek and Lydia were the most painfully obvious one out of place. They stood at the other end of the bar, both rigid as they held their arms crossed against their chests, an awkwardly tense space between them.

Stiles gave them a stern look before texting Lydia to play nice with Derek, noticing her give Derek a glare before putting on a fake smile. Derek turned his attention back to Stiles, ignoring Lydia’s false attempt to ‘play nice’.

Stiles moved through the crowd, feeling foreign hands and body parts rubbing against him. He normally would welcome the contact, but right now, in front of Derek, it made Stiles feel strange. He wasn’t sure how long had passed, but he must have turned around in the crowd several times. He was fighting against wave after wave of dancing body when he suddenly felt it.

A warmth that was warmer than the rest of the bodies as it pressed against Stiles’ back, pulled his thoughts away from trying to find the wendigo. _Wendigo? What wendigo? I have a very comfortable and I am hoping attractive midsection to get acquainted with_ , he thought as he pressed back into the body. He felt the sudden rigidness push through the body the moment they felt Stiles push back into them. The hesitation was brief before the person slowly placed their hands on Stiles’ hips.

 _Who said work and no play?_ Stiles’ brain reasoned. _Even if Lydia said no hooking up, I can at least dry hump my fantasies out. That’s not the same as hooking up_ , he continued with his muddied logic.

Stiles smiled when Florence + the Machine began to pick up off where the dubstep failed. _Lydia must have requested a change_. He suppressed a fond laugh as he thought about Lydia clicking her heel impatiently as she demanded a change in music.

Stiles let his eyes close, moving his hips to the rhythm of the song as his entire body was taken over by the simple need to _feel_ that mysterious body against him. He knew Lydia would murder him for dancing while they were trying to search out a murdering supernatural creature. But Stiles needed this. He needed a boost after almost dying. He needed this hauntingly familiar body against him, around him. _In_ him.

Stiles reached his arms behind him, his fingertips brushing against the soft stubble of a beard before trailing along a strong jaw to find their way into the hair at the nape of the stranger’s neck. He was surprised when the stranger neither accepted nor rejected his advance. He smirked slightly, thinking _Playing hard to get?_ He effortlessly curled his hips in a swiveling motion, pressing his back into the entire length of the stranger, and _holy shit, no one should be a wall of muscle like that_. He couldn’t help his mind wandering to every way he could make that muscle dance and spasm beneath his mouth, imagining how broken his mind would be, to have his fingers splayed across that chest, digging his fingernails in as he rode out his orgasm.

Stiles gently bit his bottom lip, because _Jesus Christ, it’s been a while_. He let his head fall back against the stranger’s strong, familiar shoulder, releasing a small sigh of content that was no doubt drowned out by Florence’s voice.

 _Wait … familiar shoulder_ , Stiles almost faltered in his movements when he started to think just how familiar this body felt. _Never touched, but plenty of fantasies about it_ , he rationalized. He let his fingers slip from the warmth they found housed in the stranger’s hair as the knot of consternation started to form in his stomach. As much as his brain screamed at him to move, he couldn’t bring his body to move from the warmth it found. _Please, please, don’t let it be. Don’t let me have made a pathetic fool of myself_.

Stiles let his body tense the moment the stranger’s hands on his hips tightened. He looked down at the hands, because seeing hands was less threatening to Stiles’ ego. There was nothing sexual about their placement, but a wave of embarrassment hit him full force when he realized that he _knew_ those hands. Those gorgeous hands that Stiles imagined on his body time after time. Those nibble fingers that could make Stiles orgasm just by existing. But those hands didn’t hold a promise about bringing Stiles to the brink of ecstasy, merely an anchor for the werewolf behind him to not lose control. _Probably looks like he’s going to rip my throat out_ , he thought.

“I’m … I’m sorry.” Stiles didn’t bother trying to speak over the music, knowing that Derek could hear him no matter how quiet he spoke. When his hands didn’t move from his hips, Stiles knew he was going to have to turn around and face him.

Stiles turned his body, not wanting to pull out of Derek’s hold when he realized that this was probably the _only_ time Derek would hold him like this. He unsuccessfully attempted to stop the shudder that ran through his body when Derek’s hands skimmed across his torso, never taking his hands away from the contact.

Time seemed to slow, the rest of the dance floor occupants still shamelessly dancing with one another. But for Stiles, nothing but the fact that Derek Hale was holding his waist in his hands, holding him on a dance floor instead of looking for the wendigo. Stiles opened his mouth to speak, to explain why he had shamelessly ground his ass into Derek’s crotch. But he knew Derek could smell the attraction on him. After all this time, Derek would still be able to tell he had a hopeless boner for him, and it wasn’t fair because Derek could win the world poker face tournament, giving Stiles no indication that he was feeling _anything_. Instead of speaking, Stiles let his mouth gape open and closed, like he was a fish caught in the headlights, _or however that saying goes_.

Stiles grew hopeful when he thought he saw Derek’s eyebrows cease their pensive stated, making Derek look relaxed and as if he was about to confess something. Stiles held his breath when he saw Derek’s lips part, waiting as if Derek was about to tell him the secret of life. His dreams shattered when Derek’s head suddenly jerked to the side, looking near the bar.

Stiles couldn’t bring himself to follow Derek’s line of view. He continued to stare at Derek’s face, admiring just how glorious the existence of Derek Hale actually was. It was like God handed Derek down to Beacon Hills as a gift to women _and_ men, only to have him torment Stiles’ very existence. It was then that Stiles remembered just how shamelessly he was grinding his ass into Derek’s crotch and he wanted to melt into an embarrassed puddle on the floor.

Derek’s hand suddenly grabbed Stiles by the bicep, pulling him off the floor and heading for the door. Stiles didn’t say anything, his mind still racing with a need to fix the shit show he just created.

Stiles was surprised when Derek roughly shoved him out into the cold night air. He stumbled slightly, prepared to turn around and face an extremely peeved Derek. Instead, he was met with Derek’s back, noticing that he was facing the door, claws drawn.

“Stiles, get to the car,” Derek stated through gritted teeth.

The wendigo roared as it burst out of the club, making Stiles fling himself backwards. Derek kept his ground as he roared back at it, remaining the one obstacle between it and Stiles.

Derek scuffled with the wendigo as Stiles watched on in distress. It happened suddenly when the wendigo managed to rip its claw through Derek’s jacket. Derek stumbled backwards into Stiles’ space. Stiles decided to take a chance and threw the mountain ash into the air, willing it to form a circle around him and Derek, the way Ms. Morrell taught him. Stiles shied away behind Derek when the wendigo slammed into the barrier, trying to get to them.

“Why did you do that?” Derek asked in anger.

“Oh, I’m sorry for saving your life!” Stiles nearly shouted back.

“Now I can’t fight it,” Derek explained.

“And it can’t kill you,” Stiles reasoned.

“That was meant to keep _you_ safe,” Derek bit back as he continued to move between Stiles and the wendigo as it paced outside the barrier.

Stiles remained silent as they waited for the others to come crashing out of the club. Scott roared, already shifted into his beta form, Malia and Liam following suit as they echoed his roar. Kira and Lydia stood back, Kira with her sword drawn and Lydia poised with a jar of crushed mistletoe.

The wendigo roared back before scurrying away, heading back into the woods, heading into the preserve. Stiles hesitated before breaking the mountain ash, releasing Derek from being trapped.

“Stiles, Lydia,” Scott spoke their names gently. “You two stay here, we’ll head after it.”

“Like hell,” Stiles argued.

“Stiles, if that thing overpowers us and gets you, it’s over,” Malia stated.

“And who is going to use the mistletoe and mountain ash against it?” Stiles stated in a matter-of-fact voice. “Unless one of you is suddenly not a were-creature or kitsune, you need me there.”

“I’ll come,” Lydia offered as she stood forward.

“Lydia,” Stiles turned to face her.

“I can scream to immobilize it,” Lydia reasoned. “It doesn’t want me,” she looked at Stiles as she spoke. “I’ll be careful, but we all can’t fight at our best if we are worried about that thing dragging you off.”

Stiles hesitated before he finally nodded. He knew Lydia had a point, but it didn’t make it any easier. He handed Lydia another package of mountain ash, just in case she needed another one. “Be careful,” he stated to everyone.

Stiles watched all of them quickly move, chasing after the wendigo. He looked up at Derek, noticing he was hesitating. He offered Derek a small, sheepish smile, before stating, “I’ll stay here.”

Derek hesitated, as if he was about to say something to Stiles before he finally nodded. He threw his keys at Stiles, a silent order for him to go get in the car. Stiles waved the keys in his hand before running off to the car, leaving Derek to follow after the others.

Stiles lasted a total of ten minutes before he started the engine, driving off to the Sheriff’s station. He sighed as he continued to check his phone, ignoring the fact that his eyes should be on the road. He parked by his father’s cruiser, drumming his hands against the steering wheel as he waited for a text from Lydia. _Tell me you’re okay. Tell me to call in the cavalry. Tell me something!_

Stiles nearly sent his phone flying out the window when it dinged, notifying him that he had a new message.

 

 **Lydia Martin (10:32 pm):** _Not working. Plan b._

 

 _Plan B? What plan B?!_ Stiles began to panic as he tried to think of a way to deal with the wendigo. _Weakened by mistletoe, can’t cross mountain ash. Think Stiles, think!_ He slammed his hands against the steering wheel, accidentally turning the high beams on. He angrily flipped them off, slamming himself back into his seat.

Stiles suddenly recalled how one of the resources they were reading about the wendigo mentioned its origins. The book mentioned that wendigos had early roots in Native American culture, and how they would burn the body of the vanquished creatures as they chanted a sacred ritual. _We’re idiots! Oh my God!_ Stiles quickly stumbled out of the car, jumping into the backseat of his father’s cruiser.

“Flare, flare, flare,” Stiles continued to mutter to himself as he ripped through the cruiser’s contents. He tried to ignore the fact that he found fast food wrappers discarded in the back. _Having a serious talk when I get back. Less fast food, more flares._

“Ah-ha!” Stiles exclaimed as he snatched up the two flares from his dad’s emergency car kit. _This better work_ , he thought warily was he climbed back into the car and headed for the preserve.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Everything happened in a blur.

Derek was positive he had yelled Stiles’ name. He was unable to tell who was saying or doing what. He was the first to rush towards the wendigo, Scott only a stride behind him. But the wendigo got to Stiles first. Stiles reached for his bat, effectively swatting away the wendigo’s first attempt to claw him, but Stiles was no match for the beast. It easily ripped the bat from Stiles’ hands before swiping a claw across his ribs.

Stiles yelled out in pain as he fell to the ground. He bumped into an unconscious Malia, prompting him to look down at her. He hesitated before promptly turning his body to shove her out of the way. The wendigo took Stiles’ preoccupation as an opportunity, slashing another clawed hand down his back. He cried out in pain again, feeling the claws tear open his back with intense precision. He felt a cold liquid gushing across his body, knowing that the pain wasn’t anywhere close to the amount of damage he sustained.

Stiles ignored the pain as he threw the vial of mistletoe down at the wendigo’s feet, creating a dust cloud that confused and immobilized it for several moments. He ignored what he thought was Scott calling his name, but he couldn’t be sure anymore. He knew he was badly hurt and losing blood quickly, realizing that just because he couldn’t feel the pain any longer didn’t mean it was a positive thing.

He ignited the flare before aggressively shoving it into the wendigo’s chest cavity. He fell backwards when the wendigo screamed, flailing its arms back and forth in pain. He was slightly panicked when he noticed the wendigo moving towards him in an attempt to finish what it intended: killing Stiles whether it lived or not. Stiles tried to push himself back, all his strength draining from his legs the more he tried to scurried backwards.

Derek was suddenly by the wendigo, impaling his claws deep into the creature’s back before lifting it up and slamming its chest into the ground, driving the flare even further into it. It shrieked loudly, when suddenly the entire forest clearing went silent. The creature burst into ash, disintegrating with the wind.

“Stiles!” Scott yelled as he slid to a stop next to him. “Stiles, hang on. Kira! Call an ambulance!” He yelled as he looked back at Kira.

“They’re not going to make it all the way out here and be able to carry him back in time,” Lydia hurriedly explained, pulling her cashmere sweater off to use to apply pressure to Stiles’ wounds.

“Where is the car?” Scott asked in a demanding voice.

“Stiles, stay awake,” Lydia called to him. “Don’t you dare close your eyes on me. I am not screaming for you!” She yelled at him.

“Sorry,” Stiles managed to wince. “I got in the way.”

“No, no you didn’t,” Scott assured him. “Damn it,” he muttered to himself when he noticed Stiles was bleeding worse than he thought.

“Stiles came from the far side of the preserve. The car’s got to be over there, we’re not going to make it,” Lydia explained.

“Move,” Derek finally spoke, gesturing Lydia to move away from Stiles.

“I’m not—”

“Lydia!” Scott yelled at her, knowing that whatever Derek was thinking was better than anything they had.

Lydia reluctantly scooted backwards, letting Derek move close to Stiles. She slowly released Stiles hand stating, “I’m still here,” when Stiles released a small whine of protest.

“Stiles, put your arm around my neck,” Derek instructed him as he moved his arms under Stiles’ body. He was thankful that Stiles didn’t argue for once as he obediently wrapped his arm around Derek’s neck.

Stiles let out a slight whimper when Derek moved him, easily hoisting him up in his arms as he stood.

“You can’t carry him all that way,” Lydia argued. “He’ll be in pain.”

“I move a lot quicker than a couple of human EMTs,” Derek replied. “His weight is nothing to me. I’ll be able to hold him correctly. And we’re closer to the hospital on foot anyways.”

“We’ll head back to the car and meet you there,” Scott informed Derek as he moved to pick up the still unconscious Malia. “I’ll call my mom and tell her you’re heading in.”

Derek nodded in compliance.

“Derek,” Scott hesitated before shaking his head. “Keep him awake and talking.”

“That shouldn’t be hard,” Derek almost mumbled, fighting off a faint smile when he heard Stiles’ small laugh.

Without another word Derek headed towards the edge of the forest, moving as fast as his feet would allow him, trying not to jostle Stiles in his arms.

“I’m sorry about bleeding on you,” Stiles mumbled.

Derek tried not to look down at Stiles, knowing that if he did he would only be more worried. Stiles’ weight was the only thing preventing Derek’s hands from trembling. He could barely breathe when he saw Stiles fall to the ground, only to be paralyzed with fear when he saw how badly injured he really was. It had taken Lydia’s panicked voice to snap him out of it before he could move to Stiles’ side.

“I hated this shirt anyways,” Derek replied.

“Liar,” Stiles murmured. “Cora gave it to you. You love …” His voice started to fade, causing Derek to look at him.

“Stiles, stay awake,” Derek made sure his voice was firm, preventing the waver of emotion that was falling through him.

“I … sorry … Can’t.”

“Stiles!” Derek yelled his name, determined not to shake him. “Come on, wake up!”

“You’re worse than an alarm,” Stiles jokingly mumbled. His hand moved to clutch Derek’s shirt, his fingers tightly clasping the material of his Henley. “I can’t …”

“We’re almost there,” Derek reassured him when he saw the lights of the town, knowing that the hospital was right there. He picked up his speed, pushing his wolf to move him faster without the risk of harming Stiles. “Stiles I need you to stay awake for me,” he urged.

“For you … anything,” Stiles partially joked once more. His hand resting on Derek’s shoulder tightened on his jacket, stiffly pulling the material from Derek’s skin. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you dare start that,” Derek replied, easily navigating a way down the deep incline towards the road.

“Sorry that I ruined everything,” Stiles replied.

“You didn’t,” Derek stated, not wanting to have _this_ conversation with Stiles. The _goodbye_ conversation.

“I’m…I’m sorry… that I,” Stiles took a few quick, pained breaths before adding, “love you. Didn’t mean to,” he managed to say.

“Stiles, don’t apolo—” Derek cut himself off when he noticed Stiles’ grip releasing his shirt. His feet stumbled when he noticed how faint Stiles’ heartbeat was. _No. No, no. No, no—no!_ He rushed passed the bystanders gaping at him as he made it to the hospital in record time, bursting in through the emergency room doors.

“Help! I need help! He’s bleeding badly! He’s not breathing!” Derek yelled as he moved further into the hallways bustling with nurses. Medical staff started to move out of the woodwork, buzzing around him and Stiles. They finally offered him a gurney to place Stiles on. He gently placed Stiles onto it, unwilling to completely let him go.

“Derek, you need to let him go,” Melissa was suddenly beside him, trying to pry his hand off of Stiles.

“He can’t die,” Derek finally uttered.

“Then let us do our job and _save_ him,” Melissa explained.

Derek finally released Stiles, stepping back to give them room. He watched as they wheeled Stiles off into the operating wing, leaving him behind to stand in the entrance, covered in Stiles’—and his own—blood. He looked down at his hands, noticing for the first time that they were covered, like his shirt, in blood. He was taken off guard when Scott and the rest of the pack burst through the doors.

“Derek, is he okay?” Scott questioned, looking around for a sign of what happened.

“Derek!” Lydia yelled his name when he didn’t respond.

“He … he wasn’t breathing,” Derek explained.

Scott let out a faint whimper, followed by an angered growl as he slightly paced. Kira pulled him into a gentle hug in an attempt to calm him.

Lydia tried to remain calm, knowing that no matter how bad the scream tried to work its way up, she refused to let it out. “We have to call his dad,” she finally broke the silence that settled between them.

“My mom said she was calling him,” Scott explained.

They all stood, uncertain of where to go as they waited to hear news about what was happening with Stiles. They all cowered the minute the Sheriff burst through the door, heading straight for the nurse’s desk.

“My son should have been brought in!” John sounded out of breath as he spoke.

“Sheriff,” Scott called to him, moving away from the rest of them.

“Scott,” John gently said his name, hesitating before pulling him into a hug. “You’re alright.”

“Yeah,” Scott weakly replied. “But Stiles …”

“What happened?” John asked as he released Scott. “How bad is it?”

“We were ambushed,” Scott explained. “Stiles found us, shouting that he figured out what was happening. That he knew how to stop the recent mur—” He stopped himself from saying ‘murders’ before he corrected himself. “Recent animal attacks.”

“He saved our lives,” Lydia explained.

Derek continued to stare at the ground, unable to speak.

“We were in the middle of the woods and we couldn’t get a cell signal. The car was too far away,” Kira added. “So Derek ran him here.”

Derek felt everyone’s eyes turning to look at him. He wanted to shrink away, to disappear and pretend that he never came back to Beacon Hills. It would have been better if all those years ago he stayed in New York, somehow convincing Laura not to go. He never would have met Scott or Stiles. He wouldn’t have messed up their lives.

“Thank you.”

Derek looked up to see the Sheriff standing in front of him, offering him a small, hurt smile, no doubt the best he could offer at the moment as his son’s life hung in the balance. He couldn’t bring himself to look the Sheriff in the eye as he continued to stare at his out stretched hand. He shook his head, moving back from the Sheriff. He tried to speak, unable to offer any words as he turned his hands to show that they were covered in dirt and blood. “Excuse me,” he finally managed before he ducked out of the hallways, moving quickly to the closest bathroom.

Derek roughly scrubbed his hands, thankful that he healed easily when he was certain he at least scraped off the first layer of skin. He leaned on the sink, watching the bloodied water swirling down the drain. As he looked up in the mirror, for the first time he saw how pale he was. He noticed his shirt was covered in blood, noticing the claw marks that shredded part of the material. He noticed how smooth and almost healed his own skin was, the skin only a slight shade of pink. His stomach clenched when he thought about how, if he survived, Stiles would have those scars from the wendigo forever.

Derek tightened his grip on the sink, cursing as he replayed Stiles’ apology in his head. _He apologized for loving me_. He wanted to vomit at how naïve and utterly stupid he was. Stiles still cared and hadn’t changed since he went to college. He was still the brash, impulsive teenager, a loudmouth who didn’t understand his own limits when it came to protecting his friends. _His pack_.

Derek had crushed every ounce of Stiles’ hopes at being more than just friends that night. He wanted Stiles to hate him. It was easier for Derek to be hated. It made times like these easier. He could compartmentalize and break down that he was losing a pack member as a number. At least, he tried to. It took him days after Erica and Boyd’s deaths to deal with them, and he still wasn’t done with dealing with it. There were times he would spring awake from a night terror, still feeling his claws lodged in Boyd’s torso; the softness of Erica’s hair against his chin as he carried her body out of the bank. Erica and Boyd both died without knowing how much Derek really cared about them, and it was ripping him apart.

_And now Stiles. Stiles is fighting for his life, and he could die, never knowing the truth. Never knowing how much I …_

Derek shot his eyes open the minute he heard the sink crack under his grip. He immediately released it, moving away from it as he tried to think about what he was going to do. He had to go out there and face the pack, Stiles’ father, and ultimately whether Stiles was going to live or not. _Please, God, let him live. Please don’t take him away._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you want a visual of Derek carrying Stiles into the ER, I couldn't help but envisioning [this photo](http://drunklightning.tumblr.com/post/115615946639) manip.


	5. Chapter 5

Scott refused to move from the waiting room, no matter how many times his mom assured him that Stiles’ surgery went well. He didn’t want to leave without seeing him. He was also curious as to when Derek was going to leave. He watched Derek every time he moved from one seat to uncontrollably pace before leaning against the wall. It was a strange dance he continued to do until the Sheriff finally cleared his throat, eyes signaling for Derek to sit down.

Scott ultimately fell asleep, his head resting on his jacket as he angled his body strangely in the chair to use the wall as a headboard. The Sheriff fought off sleep, jerking awake every time his head started to slip from his hand. Derek continued to shift, moving uncomfortably in the chair before getting up to harass a nurse whenever the Sheriff drifted into sleep.

“John,” Melissa called his name, causing both him and Scott to jump up from their chairs. Derek was already standing, trying to shy into the corner in an attempt to disappear from sight.

The Sheriff wiped the light sleep from his eyes, looking at Melissa in surprise. “What is it? Is he okay?” He asked.

“He’s stable,” Melissa stated with a smile. “But he’s suffered a lot of blood loss,” she explained.

“He’s A-Negative,” John immediately replied.

“I know,” Melissa reassuringly stated. “We wanted to check with you to see if you could donate.”

“I’m not a match,” John frowned in response. “Is there a shortage?” He asked, fearful that Stiles might not get the transfusion he needed.

“Am I a match?” Scott quickly asked him mom.

“I’m O-Negative,” Derek suddenly stated. He looked at the others as they turned to look at him for the first time. “It’s the universal donor.”

Melissa hesitated before nodding. “John?” She arched her eyebrow, waiting for him to consent.

“What about …” John waved his hands about, not wanting to say ‘werewolf’ out loud.

“Lycanthropy isn’t contagious through blood or … other bodily fluids,” Derek explained. “Only the bite of an Alpha affects humans. Even if Scott’s a match, I’m a safer choice.”

“Okay,” John stated almost instantly, looking at Melissa.

Melissa nodded, having Derek follow her out of the waiting room.

“Thank you,” John uttered as Derek passed him, placing a thankful hand on his shoulder.

Derek stared at the ground as he offered a brief nod, before adding, “I should have protected him.”

“You got him here,” John explained. “You saved his life. And now you’re doing it again.” He gently squeezed Derek’s shoulder in reassurance.

Derek finally looked at the Sheriff. He knew he must look like a wounded animal when the Sheriff gave him a hopeful smiling, letting him know that he didn’t blame him for what happened. He nodded once more before walking off to follow Melissa. He almost didn’t think it was fair that he was going to be the first person to see Stiles since coming into the hospital.

The entire pack had initially stayed, until Lydia suggested they start investigating to make sure there was only one wendigo. She had put on a good poker face, but Derek could tell that she wanted to get away from the hospital, seeking out a distraction. Kira offered to help, even making a few runs back and forth from the hospital and loft, bringing Scott and Derek a fresh change of clothes and much needed coffee. Liam and Malia agreeing that they would help search for a way to aid Stiles’ recovery process. It had been just Scott, John, and Derek for the past few hours, all of them waiting for the worst.

But now, Derek was going to be the first one able to see Stiles. He waited for Melissa to gather up the correct paperwork, both of them standing by the nurse’s station.

“Now, I have to ask a few questions before we continue,” Melissa stated as she lead him into one of rooms.

Stiles’ scent immediately hit Derek like a ton of bricks. A punch in the gut would have been kinder. Stiles’ scent was weak, but it radiated hurt from it. It made Derek’s wolf whimper when he realized that he was just behind the ugly privacy curtain Melissa was standing in front of.

“Do you have any contagious diseases?” Melissa asked as she looked down at the clipboard in her hands.

“I’m a born werewolf,” Derek simply replied. “I can’t get sick.”

“So, that includes STIs?”

“Yes,” Derek hesitated before replying.

“I’m sorry, Derek, but I have to ask these questions,” Melissa stated. “Believe me, I think some are invasive, and given your situation, completely unnecessary. But it’s the law.”

Derek nodded in understanding.

Melissa gave a small smile before marking off other things on the sheet. After a few more questions, she finally sighed in relief. “If you’d sign here,” she offered the clipboard. “I can get John’s signature and we can get started.”

Derek quickly signed the paper before offering it back. He patiently waited for her to go back to the Sheriff, his eyes constantly scanning the privacy curtain. He could push the offending material back. He could be looking at Stiles right now instead of a hideously awful plastic curtain. He was preoccupied with glaring a hole through the curtain that he didn’t hear Melissa enter the room again.

Derek pretended he didn’t see her look at him for reassurance that he wasn’t going to have an insane reaction. _How bad is he? Do I look that far gone?_ He slowly moved forward once Melissa moved the curtain, allowing him access. There were two beds, an empty one by the window Derek assumed was meant for him, and another with an unconscious Stiles. He was surprised how healthy Stiles actually looked, which he credited to the fact that the blankets were covering almost his entire body, hiding the wounds. Derek, however, could smell the fresh blood from his wounds, hurt radiating off of Stiles in waves.

“He’s been unconscious since before he went in for surgery,” Melissa explained. “He’s responding well to the surgery, but we need to get more blood in him.”

“Is he going to wake up?” Derek’s voice was rough and heavy, as if he had spent hours crying his heart out.

“They don’t know,” Melissa honestly replied, knowing that lying to Derek was pointless.

Derek nodded, not trusting himself to speak, knowing that his voice would probably crack under the knowledge that Stiles was broken—right in front of him—and there was nothing he could do. He moved towards the bed, reclining as he looking at Stiles, thankful that Melissa blocked his view as she moved between them. It didn’t take her long to hook Derek’s up to the machine, feeding the blood from him to Stiles. She offered the gentle comfort of her hand on his shoulder before exiting the room.

Derek sighed, trying to not look over at Stiles every few minutes as he stared at the ceiling. He tried to focus on anything but the sound of the machines hooked up to Stiles. The rhythmic beeping was driving him insane, a constant reminder that Stiles’ life hung in the balance and the only thing keeping him stable were boxes of metal and wires. He looked down at the needle nestled in his arm, watching the blood flow through the tube and into Stiles’ arm. He closed his eyes, focusing on the faint beating of Stiles’ heart. It reminded him of all the times he spent sleeping on the porch. Only now, he had failed to protect Stiles.

Time passed quickly as Derek focused on nothing but Stiles’ heartbeat, the only constant that kept him from lashing out at the machines. _There has to be a mute button_ , he thought in aggravation. He was surprised when Melissa came back into the room.

“Alright, that’s enough for now,” Melissa stated.

“He doesn’t need more?” Derek asked as he looked at Stiles, taking note of his pale skin.

“He’s stable now,” Melissa explained. “You’ve given more than the normal amount anyways.”

“I’m fine,” Derek almost grumbled. “Just keep us hooked up.”

“Derek,” Melissa started.

“I said I’m fine,” Derek stated through gritted teeth.

“Draining yourself of blood isn’t going to snap him out of this,” Melissa reasoned. “I know you are beating yourself up, but you can’t do this to yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Derek repeated.

Melissa huffed in defeat. “I thought you would say that,” she muttered as she stood to exit the room.

Derek was less than pleased when he noticed Scott had taken his mother’s place. “I told your mother, I’m fine.”

“Derek, we’ve done everything we can do. Draining ourselves of blood isn’t going to help him,” Scott reasoned as he crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes lingering on Stiles.

Derek saw the worry and fear in Scott’s eyes. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, it was obvious that Scott was worried about his best friend—his brother. But nothing was going to change what happened to Stiles, and Derek wanted Scott to acknowledge that.

Derek wanted Scott to blame him.

“He needs all the blood he can get so his body can focus on other things,” Derek broke the small silence.

Scott turned his attention to Derek before speaking. “Derek—”

“I heal from blood loss, he doesn’t!” Derek suddenly bit out in argument.

Scott’s features softened as he looked back at Stiles. He shook his head, finally understanding. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You’re pissed that you can heal and he can’t.” He observed Derek, growing slightly angry when Derek merely stared at the wall. “Well, get over it!” The floodgate finally broke, and Scott knew he was going to be irrational, but rationality be damned when his best friend was laying in a hospital bed fighting for his life. “You don’t think I deal with that every day since Peter bit me? That my loved ones are almost all human, and could die if I don’t somehow manage the impossible and save the entire town from things that _shouldn’t_ exist? Jesus, Derek,” he exasperated. “Yes, Stiles can’t heal. Yes, we messed up and he got hurt. But Stiles doesn’t blame us for stuff like that. He’s going to be the one to give us a play by play at how ‘awesomely BAMF’ he was.”

Derek released a sigh, allowing his head to fall in his hands as Scott’s words sunk in. “But that’s it, I don’t want him to.”

“Don’t want him to what?” Scott asked in confusion.

“I don’t want him to be overjoyed by this,” Derek explained. “He needs to … He can’t be doing this,” his voice was soft and weak, as if it was about to break from an unknown pressure.

“Derek,” Scott sighed his name before he took a step closer. “I know that what happened between you and Stiles royally messed everything up,” he started, crossing his arms over his chest once again. “But, Stiles doesn’t blame you. _I_ don’t blame you.”

Derek looked up at Scott in surprise.

“I may be your Alpha, but I’m your friend first and foremost. You’re part of my pack—both of you are—and I can’t hold how you both feel against you. Was I pissed you treated him that way? Absolutely. I still am. Why you kept going to his house to watch over him afterwards, I have no clue.”

Derek’s eyes widened.

“I’m Stiles’ best friend,” Scott explained. “Whenever I went over his house, your scent was all over the porch. Plus _,_ ” he motioned towards Stiles. “He kept telling me how he was having a dream about a black wolf howling. He chalked it up to being hung up on you. I never said anything because I didn’t want to get involved in whatever freaky wolf thing you were doing.

“Whatever it is that has you so messed up over this, I can’t fix it. No one but you can. And if you can’t manage it without dragging Stiles into it … Then maybe you shouldn’t go there.” He hesitated when Derek looked at him. “Stiles was a mess after what you said to him. He constantly lied to me about it, telling me he was okay. But you broke something in him, Derek. And I think you’re just realizing it now. Why you said the things you did to him is beyond me. But if you want to make this right between the two of you, you need to stick around.” He looked over at Stiles, hoping he was making the right decision. “You need to stick around and either help him move on, or move passed it together. Running yourself into the ground isn’t going to make it up to him. But being here for when he wakes up … _That_ is what matters, Derek.”

Scott patiently waited for Derek’s response, letting the silence drag on.

“I was trying to protect him,” Derek finally spoke. “I said what I said to protect him.”

“From what?” Scott sincerely asked.

“From me,” Derek answered as he looked up at Scott.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Derek was thankful Scott didn’t press the matter by inquiring what he meant by protecting Stiles from himself. Scott gave Derek the room he needed, which was all but becoming impossible because Derek never left Stiles’ hospital room.

The Sheriff shrugged when Scott eyed Derek’s wolf sitting in the chair at the other side of the room. John was sitting beside Stiles, holding his hand as he waited for him to wake up. It was taking longer than the doctors had predicted, days stretching on without any progress.

“Has he been like this?” Scott asked as he motioned towards Derek.

“He hasn’t left,” John explained. “He turned into a wolf when Melissa explained that the hospital couldn’t bend the visiting hour rules. Even for the Sheriff. So, Derek agreed to keep an eye on him for me when I can’t be here … Say hello to Stiles’ service dog,” he gestured to Derek’s sleeping form.

“You told them he was a service dog?” Scott arched his eyebrow.

The Sheriff nodded. “Deaton wrote out some paperwork. Emotional support for the PTSD Stiles experienced from what happened,” John gestured with his hand as he spoke, not wanting to actually speak the Nogitsune’s name. “Wrote that having his service dog around would help him heal faster. Apparently the higher-ups bought that.”

“Derek doesn’t mind being called a dog?” Scott asked. He heard a faint huffing noise and looked over to Derek’s sleeping form.

“I think he can hear you,” John smiled.

A month had gone by since that night, and no one was any closer to figuring out how to help Stiles. It became a normal occurrence to enter Stiles’ hospital room, catching a glimpse of black fur hopping off of the bed to head over to the chair in the corner of the room, making space for the visitors. It was Isaac who did a double take when he walked in, eyeing Derek as Scott moved to sit by Stiles’ bedside.

Isaac had jumped on a plane straight to Beacon Hills the minute Scott called him. He heard the wavering in Scott’s voice and immediately needed to be there for his Alpha. He may have moved across the world, but true to his word, Isaac was still Scott’s Beta. He told Scott to not worry about how long it took, and that he was back in Beacon Hills for as long as it took. Maybe even longer if he became reacquainted with the town.

“You weren’t kidding,” Isaac stated as he observed Derek. “He’s been staying like that?” He asked in gesture.

“As far as I know. I haven’t seen him in human form in more than a month,” Scott explained as he slipped his hand into Stiles’. He watched Stiles’ blank face, his eyes partially moving beneath his lids as Scott began to drain some of his pain. It was a daily ritual for Scott to come and draw some of Stiles’ pain away, his break from the pack meetings as they tirelessly searched for a way to speed Stiles’ recovery.

Derek’s eyes immediately popped open, turning his head to look at Scott. He eyed Scott and Isaac before turning his head and closing his eyes once more. Scott had grown accustomed to Derek always eyeing him or anyone else the minute they touched Stiles.

A week ago, Derek had growled at one of the nurses when she came in to change the sheets, having to physically touch and move Stiles in the process. The Sheriff gently flicked Derek on the nose, bringing him back to reality, making him realize that he couldn’t growl the nurse away. He released a faint whine before resting his head on the Sheriff’s knee, both of them sitting in the row of chairs in the corner as they watched the nurse.

“I’m surprised they haven’t noticed he’s a wolf instead of a dog,” Isaac commented.

“Deaton wrote on his documentation that he’s half-wolf,” Scott explained. He smiled when he heard Derek’s small scoff.

Isaac nodded before turning back to look at Stiles. “You think he’s going to make it?” He moved to stand next to Scott.

“I … I don’t know,” Scott finally admitted. “If he doesn’t get better … I’ll do something,” he explained. He looked up at Isaac, grateful when he noticed the understanding in his Beta’s eyes.

Scott jumped back when, in a flash of black fur, Derek was suddenly standing on the bed. He moved close to Stiles before laying down. He rested his head on Stiles’ stomach, looking up at Scott before baring his teeth. Derek’s eyes glowed blue, his lips curled to reveal his canines.

“I said ‘if,’ Derek,” Scott explained, understanding that this was Derek’s protest. “If he doesn’t get better.”

“Won’t touch your boyfriend,” Isaac placed his hands up in a placated manner.

Derek’s growl grew deeper at Isaac’s comment, snarling in response. For a moment, Derek looked as if he was going to jump Isaac, possibly making a lunge for his throat.

“Derek,” Scott sternly spoke his name. “Isaac was being an ass,” he shot Isaac a look that told him to not say anything. “But Stiles is going to be okay. And I promise you,” he looked Derek in the eye as he spoke. “I won’t give Stiles the bite unless it is necessary to save his life.”

Derek searched Scott’s eyes, his growl dying down before he eased his head completely into Stiles’ stomach. He blinked up at Scott, watching him in silence but refusing to move from his spot covering Stiles.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Derek had grown accustomed to sleeping in the hospital bed with Stiles, growing comfortable with moving far enough away to give the pack and Stiles’ father enough room when they visited. He never moved far from the hospital room, sometimes pacing the hall outside which earned him small pats and scratches behind his ears from the staff as they passed him. The staff had all accepted him over the past month and a half, gushing over how adorable they thought his loyalty to Stiles was.

Derek was pacing the hall one night when he overheard a group of nurses as they watched him.

“Imagine having a pet that loyal,” one of the nurses stated.

“I really hope he wakes up soon,” the other nurse sighed in reply. “It would be awful, for the dog and the Sheriff.”

“I can’t imagine what he’s going through. Losing your wife, now in jeopardy of losing your son,” the nurse shook her head as she spoke. “It’s got to be tough.”

“They don’t think he’s going to wake up, do they?” the other nurse solemnly asked.

“It’s not looking good. A few weeks in a coma was promising, but the longer it drags on,” the nurse’s voice trailed off.

Derek didn’t even realize he was marching back into Stiles’ room, kicking the door shut with his hind leg. He moved over to Stiles’ side, watching the beeping monitor with daggers in his eyes. He jumped up onto the bed, curling beside Stiles before nuzzling into his abdomen. This had become a normal position for Derek to take, feeling as if he was actually somehow protecting Stiles. But he knew the real reason was because he could feel Stiles’ breathing beneath him. He could feel the air entering and exiting Stiles’ lungs. He could feel his heartbeat calling to him, soft but strong.

Derek always fell asleep once he focused on just those feelings. On just Stiles. When Derek was able to block out the noise of the bustling hallways, the annoying beep of the machines, nothing but Stiles remained.

The dream came every night, the same as when he slept on the Stilinski’s porch. The figure ran ahead of him, beckoning him to give chase. Only this time, the dream was different. This time, Derek caught the person. They tumbled down into the leaves, their bodies rolling together until Derek’s body was sprawled on top of the figure. The figure was laughing, their smile infectiously bright, their lips impossibly perfect.

Derek knew that laugh. He knew that smile. He knew those lips. For the first time, Derek was able to see the figure’s face, and he felt like the wind was knocked out of him. ‘ _Stiles_ ,’ he felt his voice calling his name.

 _‘Hey, sourwolf_ ,’ Stiles voice rang in his ears as he smiled.

Stiles’ voice was the sound Derek waited to hear for more than a month, and it was music to his ears. He tightened his grip on Stiles, his fingertips gently caressing his shoulders, his arms, until finally he held Stiles’ hand up to inspect it. His fingers were long and delicate, his palm warm and welcoming as Derek interlocked theirs together. ‘ _Five. Five fingers,’_ Derek’s voice admitted out loud.

‘ _I guess this isn’t a dream_ ,’ Stiles replied, a small frown taking over his features.

‘ _I miss you_ ,’ Derek admitted as he stared down at Stiles. He buried his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck, deeply inhaling his familiarly intoxicating scent.

‘ _I’m glad you caught me_ ,’ Stiles admitted, using his free hand to card his fingers through Derek’s hair. He leaned his head against Derek’s, closing his eyes as he embraced the moment.

‘ _I didn’t know it was you,_ ’ Derek admitted. ‘ _But … but I’m glad it is._ ’ He stopped hiding his face, pulling back from his spot on Stiles’ neck.

‘ _I didn’t know it was you, either_ ,’ Stiles replied. ‘ _I always hoped it was, but I wasn’t sure._ ’ He ran his hand from its place in Derek’s hair, his fingertips gently dancing down his jaw until his palm found its way to rest over his heart. ‘ _I thought you hated me_ ,’ his voice almost cracked as he spoke.

‘ _No, never_ ,’ Derek replied as he shook his head. ‘ _You just … scare me_ ,’ he admitted.

‘ _I’m the big bad wolf in this fairy tale?_ ’ Stiles smiled when a small smile graced Derek’s lips.

‘ _I’m scared of losing you_ ,’ Derek corrected him.

‘ _So you broke my heart?_ ’ Stiles frowned as he recalled their conversation that night.

‘ _I broke your heart because I didn’t deserve it. I still don’t,_ ’ Derek let his head hang, placing a chaste kiss over Stiles’ heart. That was when Derek realized that they were both naked, bare bodies pressed against one another once his fur had shed and he took human form once more. Normally, he would have felt inappropriate, having an exposed Stiles laying beneath him, but there was nothing sexual about their embrace. They both needed to have no space between them, feeling their bodies pressed tightly against one another, a reassurance that they were both real; that this moment was real.

Stiles’ thighs housed Derek’s hips, one of his feet hooked around his calf. Stiles’ fingers clasped to Derek’s hand, the pads of his fingertips keeping Derek grounded by their touch. Stiles’ warm palm was over Derek’s heart, breathing newfound life into him. All of it was a lifeline to Derek, and he held onto it tightly as he fought against letting this vision—whatever it was—go.

‘ _That’s not your choice to make_ ,’ Stiles replied, gently drumming his fingertips against Derek’s chest. ‘ _It’s my heart to give, Derek. And I wanted you to have it_ ,’ he explained, gently biting his bottom lip.

‘ _Wanted?_ ’ Derek knew he sounded hopeful, that maybe Stiles misspoke, but he knew deep down that he didn’t deserve to ask Stiles about it.

‘ _I’ll always want to give you my heart. But whether you want to take it … keep me wanting to give it to you … I’m not sure_ ,’ Stiles hand moved back to house itself back in Derek’s hair.

‘ _I … Stiles, I—_ ’

‘ _I know_ ,’ Stiles replied with a faint smile. ‘ _I think I always knew that part of you couldn’t._ ’

Derek suddenly felt a distance tug, the feeling of fingertips running through the fur at the base of his neck. He immediately knew it was someone petting his wolf form back in the hospital. Back where Stiles was still in a coma.

‘ _You have to wake up,_ ’ Stiles stated.

‘ _No, I don’t want to leave you_ ,’ Derek replied, studying Stiles features. ‘ _Not when I finally caught you_.’

‘ _Caught me?_ ’ Stiles smiled as he spoke. ‘ _You didn’t catch me, Derek. You finally let go enough to catch up to where I’ve been. We’re finally in the same place_.’

‘ _Still don’t want to leave_.’ Derek’s wolf whined when it felt the fingers in his fur pulling him back to reality.

‘ _Then catch up to me when you wake up_ ,’ Stiles offered. His eyes scanned Derek’s features before he began to lean closer to him. He gently pulled Derek’s head down towards him. His lips were soft against Derek’s, a small promise that this wasn’t the end. ‘ _I’m waiting_ ,’ he spoke against Derek’s lips, the words breathing a new confidence in Derek.

Derek’s eyes flickered open, sighing when he recognized the beeping machines and bland walls of the hospital. He wanted to stay in that dream forever, never letting go of Stiles. He turned his head, looking up at Stiles’ sleeping form. It was then that he noticed that the fingers playing with his fur were none other than Stiles’. His head perked up, noticing that Stiles’ body was stirring, his head turning. Derek couldn’t stop himself when he released a loud howl, signaling the staff that something was happening. Several nurses and a doctor came filing in when Derek continued to howl, all concerned as to what caused the normally quiet ‘service animal’ to act out.

That was when Stiles’ eyes flew open. The machines started to beep intensely as Stiles’ vitals skyrocketed. He struggled against the tube down his throat, uncertain where he was.

Derek wanted to lunge forward, burying his muzzle in Stiles’ neck when he noticed he was awake. He was intercepted when a hand grabbed the fur at the base of his neck, guiding him off the bed. He turned to growl and snap at the person, halting his actions when he noticed it was Melissa.

“Go change in the bathroom,” Melissa quietly instructed him, pointing a hand to the private bathroom attached to Stiles’ room.

Derek hesitated when he saw the nurses and doctor hovering over Stiles. His wolf growled that there were too many people around him, that he needed to push them out of Stiles’ space. That they were crowding his mate.

 _My mate_ , Derek felt his heart leap into his throat. He shook his head, bolting into the bathroom as quickly as possible, thankful Melissa closed the door behind him.

Derek’s bones and joints ached loudly in protest when he shifted back. He rolled his shoulders, unaccustomed to his own height as he looked down at the floor. He avoiding looking in the mirror, knowing he was going to see how far lost he was. He knew that over the past month, he had nearly completed the imprinting bond he started last summer, and he hated himself for it.

Stiles had become more than a pack member to him, more than an anchor. _Mate_. The word echoed in his brain. Derek wasn’t exactly shocked when his wolf made that conclusion. He was shocked at how that thought made him feel. He felt a series of sparks shooting up through his spine, a heat overtaking his body as he thought about Stiles as a mate. Waking up every morning to Stiles’ sleeping form. Decorating Stiles with hickeys to mark him as his. Letting Stiles do that same to him. Being able to provide and care for Stiles.

Derek quickly yanked on his clothes and shoes, holding his jacket in his hand as he cracked open up the door to look out. The nurses were hovering over Stiles, all except Melissa who caught sight of Derek. He let her move him outside of the room, avoiding detection before she instructed him to call the Sheriff.

Derek watched through the window of Stiles’ room as the Sheriff and Stiles embraced. He noticed the way Stiles closed his eyes, committing the moment to memory. His wolf whined at him to go into the room, to get a hug like that from Stiles. He noticed Stiles suddenly turn his head to look at Derek.

Stiles had an expression of surprise and perhaps shyness as he ducked his head down. He stared at his hospital bracelet, picking at the uncomfortable plastic as he nodded to what his dad was telling him. He tried to force the blush down, knowing Derek was watching him. He was still trying to process that Derek was with him the entire time. As a wolf. He fondly smiled to himself before he finally looked back at the window. He frowned when he noticed Derek was nowhere to be seen.

The pack had nearly come jogging down the hallway from the parking lot. Scott bypassed Derek completely, bursting into Stiles’ room and nearly tackling him off the bed. Lydia hurried, her heels making loud clicking noises as she came to a skidding halt by the bed. She smiled before smacking Stiles, which she immediately apologized for as she hugged him. Everyone crowded around Stiles, hugging and expressing their joy that he was finally awake. All except Derek.

Derek remained in the back of the pack, avoiding being in close proximity to Stiles’ bed; a bed he had called home for the past month and a half because of the simple fact that Stiles was there.

Lydia was sitting on the bed, holding Stiles’ hand tightly as she finally allowed herself to cry. Stiles leaned forward, hugging her as he gently rubbed her back.

“You’re going to ruin your make-up,” Stiles commented.

Lydia let a small laugh bubble up. “If you haven’t realized that I care about you more than my make-up, you’re an idiot.”

Stiles smiled as he released Lydia. He relaxed into his pillow, gently holding Lydia’s hand again to reassure her.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles finally stated. “To all of you. I shouldn’t have run in like that. I just had the flare and my brain told me to go for it.”

“If you had looked harder, you would have found the flare gun,” John stated as he gently tousled Stiles’ hair.

“Maybe you should buy me a flare gun,” Stiles joked.

“I’ll buy you twenty flare guns if you never pull a stunt like that again,” John retorted.

“Deal,” Stiles stated with a weak smile. He was happy his father was still in a joking mood after everything that happened. His eyes flickered over everyone, overjoyed that they all came to see him, but more so that they were all okay. His eyes landed on Derek, his breath catching.

Derek was staring off to the side, lost in thought as the others conversed. There was an evident sadness gracing Derek’s features. He was trying to consider his course of action when considering Scott’s ‘demands’ of sticking it out with Stiles. _I could … I could do this. I could stay_ , he started to convince himself. His eyes wandered, lingering on the pack as they smiled and laughed with one another. _I could have a family again_. His eyes landed on Stiles, becoming transfixed and unable to pull away. But something in Derek didn’t want to pull away from this. He wasn’t to stay like this, to keep sharing these moments with Stiles. Private looks that spoke levels more than Derek could put into words. _I could stay with him_.

“I’m actually pretty exhausted,” Stiles suddenly announced, faking a tired yawn. He gave his father a knowing look, who started to herd everyone out despite their protests. Everyone but Derek.

“Wait,” Stiles called to Derek when he started to head for the door. “We, uh, we need to talk.”

Derek hesitated, knowing that usually those words held awful meaning for all parties involved. He recalled Laura saying they were the ‘universal break up words, baby brother.’

“Thank you,” Stiles’ voice broke the small silence that fell between him and Derek.

“For what?” Derek asked as he crossed his arms over his chest, feeling unusual as a weight started to lift.

“Oh, I don’t know. For jogging all the way here with my unconscious ass,” Stiles partly laughed.

“Unconscious?” Derek turned to look at Stiles.

“I wasn’t?” Stiles asked as he looked up at Derek.

“You don’t remember talking to me?” Derek asked in surprise.

Stiles shook his head. “I remember being in your arms,” he admitted. “I remember you yelling at me to stay awake. That’s about it.”

“Maybe it’s better that way,” Derek stated, his voice fading. Maybe it was spur of the moment when Stiles told him that he loved him. Maybe it was just one last confession. _Maybe it’s over_.

“I didn’t try to kiss you, did I?” Stiles tried to joke, but the uncertainty in his voice was still evident.

Derek looked him over, noting how a small blush crept over his cheeks, settling in his ears. For the first time, he noticed how small Stiles actually looked in the hospital bed. Derek never once considered Stiles to be scrawny or gangly, but right now, Stiles looked exceptionally small in the bed, as if he was trying to shrink away from Derek’s view. He recalled the way Stiles had grown over the past years, his body filling out as he suddenly grew capable of handling himself on and off the lacrosse field.

“You should get some rest,” Derek replied. “I’ll come back tomorrow,” he added, uncertain if he should.

Stiles looked surprised before he smiled, nodding quickly. “I’d, uh, I’d like that.”

Derek nodded back, however he refused to budge. His brain was demanding he stay. He had no problem cuddling with Stiles in that bed before, but now Stiles would know first hand. He didn’t realize at first, but his feet brought him to stand beside Stiles’ bedside. Mindlessly, his hand moved to cover Stiles’—the same hand he used to nuzzle whenever Stiles’ vitals dangerously spiked. He was leaning forward, catching sight of the confused and shocked expression covering Stiles’ face. His lips gently brushed against Stiles’ tousled hair, the soft strands tickling against his beard. He noticed the joy wash over Stiles face when he realized what Derek was doing.

“See you tomorrow,” Derek’s voice was low and gentle, as if he was having difficulty accepting the intimacy of his gesture. He slowly released Stiles’ hand before exiting the room, but not before he took one last hesitant look back at Stiles. Stiles’ smile was small but hopeful.

But Derek didn’t come back the next day. Or the day after. Stiles fell into a solemn mood as he waited for Derek, no matter how often Scott reassured him that Derek was probably doing something insanely important and would show up and apologize. Every time one of the pack members entered the room, Stiles’ head would lift up in anticipation, only to be replaced by disappointment once he realized it wasn’t Derek. He tried his best to put on a fond smile to fool whoever it was.

Lydia loudly banged her fist against the loft door, demanding Derek answer. She was tired of seeing Stiles’ disappointed face every time she was visiting him. She was tired of making excuses for Derek, the whole pack was. But everyone made the excuse to themselves that they had to give Derek time. Lydia, however, was done waiting.

“Derek Hale, I know you are in there!” Lydia yelled as she noisily clacked her heel against the steel floor. “I can do this all day,” she threatened. “How long do you think your werewolf hearing can handle the sound of insufferable heel clicking?”

Within a minute, Derek was reefing the loft door open, glaring down at Lydia.

“Hello to you too,” Lydia gave a forced smile before slipping into the loft.

“What are you doing here, Lydia?” Derek asked in an exasperated voice.

“I’m here to try and fix your mistakes,” Lydia stated as she looked around the loft before landing her eyes on Derek. “Tell me, Derek,” she paused, fixating her sight on his face as she studied him. “Where’s Braeden these days?”

Derek crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring the sudden fluttering of his heart. He knew she was here because of Stiles; because he couldn’t bring himself to see him.

“You need to hire a mercenary?” Derek avoided the question the best he could.

“Funny, because I thought you two were a thing,” Lydia observed. “I thought that was why you decided to crush Stiles’ heart.”

“What do you want?” Derek asked, sounding as if he was grinding his teeth.

“I want to know why,” Lydia stated matter-of-factly. “I want to know why you broke Stiles down, waited for him to piece himself back together, then wiggled your way back in, only to break his heart again when you don’t show up.” She placed her hands on her hips as she waited for a response. “So, tell me, Derek, why?”

“I’m not having this conversation,” Derek defensively replied.

“Why not? You won’t have it with anyone else. Certainly not with the person that matters,” Lydia moved her arms to cross them over her chest as she spoke. “I just want to know what excuse the pack and I are supposed to give this time. Because that’s what we do, Derek. We make excuses for you to keep Stiles from shutting down.”

“I never asked you to make excuses,” Derek replied.

“You never had to,” Lydia replied.

“He should forget about me,” Derek stated as he moved further into the loft.

“I don’t think you realize what exactly is happening, do you?” Lydia gently asked. She watched Derek’s face when he turned to look at her. “Stiles isn’t making excuses for you, Derek, because part of him is hoping that he won’t have to. He’s hoping you’ll show up, like you always do, and save him from having to face the reality that you’re an asshole.”

“I can’t do that,” Derek solemnly replied.

“Derek,” Lydia sighed his name. She carefully studied him, trying to decipher what Derek always meant by he couldn’t do something when it came to Stiles.

Throughout past year, Lydia remained silent as to what was happening between the two of them. Nobody wanted to reopen Stiles’ wound, or punch Derek in the face for hurting him the way he did. But something made Lydia second guess what was really happening between them. She witnessedhow Derek looked at Stiles. How he risked life and limb to save him. How he treated as if he was more than just pack. And then everything started to fall into place. The verbal exchanges, the glances, the touches. All of them were conveying what Derek himself couldn’t say, what he wouldn’t let himself feel. Stiles had become like a silver lore shining through the murky water of Derek’s life, and Derek refused to let himself take a chance on snagging that desired object for himself. Because what if that lore hooked him, pulling him and it to his doom? What if he took that chance and learned the hard way that it wasn’t what he thought? What if someone took that lore away once he took ahold of it?

“I know that you haven’t known Stiles—or any of us for that matter—for more than five years. But maybe … maybe it’s not about how long you know someone,” Lydia stated as she looked down at her heels. She slowly inspected them, waiting for Derek to acknowledge that she spoke.

“What do you mean?” Derek finally asked.

“Maybe it’s about having a connection,” Lydia replied. “About feeling _something_ on an unknown level. A type of recognition, shared in a single look that tells you, somehow, your souls just know one another. That your souls need one another.” She straightened as she looked at Derek. “Stiles needs you. Whether or not he likes to admit it. And I think deep down you need him. But for some reason you’re afraid of that, aren’t you?” She watched Derek as he crossed his arms over his chest before pacing back and forth.

“Doesn’t matter,” Derek finally confessed.

“‘Doesn’t matter’?” Lydia placed her hands on her hips. “Since when did caring about someone not matter?” She waited for a response, until she slammed her heel down, startling a look from Derek. “I am sick and tired of you two. Seriously. You can continue this dance for the rest of your lives, and feel sorry for yourselves, but I am done with it.” She pointed an angered finger at Derek. “You go and you talk to him. Don’t you dare try to let him run away again, only to run away yourself. You go and tell him how you really feel.”

“Lydia—” Derek began to argue.

“No!” Lydia cut him off. “He almost _died_ Derek. Do you understand that?” She noted how Derek’s features suddenly closed off, but not before she caught the flicker of sadness. “He almost died thinking that you meant everything you said to him that night. But you care about him, I know you do. Even if … even if it isn’t romantic, he deserves to know the truth. He deserves to know why you acted the way you did.”

Derek finally looked at Lydia, amazed that she could still act this way. That she was still fearless in the face of werewolves and any other supernatural creature that threatened her and the pack after everything. The fact that Lydia Martin was letting Derek have a second chance at trying to make things right with Stiles.

“It’s not the same,” Derek started, shaking his head as he tried to think of what he really needed to say.

“If you still feel the same, then tell him. Don’t humiliate him. But if you feel differently … Derek, you both need this. You _need_ to talk to him. Don’t leave things unsaid, because you might not get another chance,” Lydia’s voice was gentler than before, as if she was trying to put a frightened animal at ease.

“I … I need to go for a run,” Derek stated.

“… Okay,” Lydia hesitated. “Promise me you’ll talk to him, though.” She watched the tightness in Derek’s shoulders, his entire back rigid from the impact of her words. “He built the courage to tell you how he felt once … I think he deserves the same from you.”

Derek remained motionless as Lydia made her exit without another word. He knew Lydia was right and that what he was doing to Stiles was cruel, but he couldn’t bring himself to go back to the hospital. He couldn’t bring himself to go back to being vulnerable around him. His wolf howled in protest, demanding he go back, at least to check on Stiles.

That was how Derek’s nightly run landed him at the hospital. His paws burned with recognition as they padded against the hospital floor. He questioned whether staying in his wolf form was the best course of action. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, his fur was the closest thing to armor he could manage when it came to facing others. It made him feel safer, as if he wasn’t obligated to have a vocal response to any questions people asked.

Derek barely registered the faint nods of recognition the hospital staff gave him as he headed straight for Stiles’ room. He gently nudged the door open, peering his head around the corner. He moved in closer when he noticed Stiles was sleeping.

“Thought you’d never come back,” the Sheriff’s voice startled Derek into a defensive stance.

Derek eyed the Sheriff, noting his resting place in the chairs on the far side of the room. His eyes darted to Stiles, relieved when he saw that he was still asleep.

“He fell asleep an hour ago,” John explained. “He was asking about you,” he added as he began to stand. “He’s convinced you were abducted again.”

Derek felt as if a load of bricks plummeted into his stomach. He was avoiding Stiles at all costs because he didn’t want to admit what was really between them. And all he managed to do was worry Stiles. He released a small whine before walking over to Stiles’ bed.

“Son, I’d like to have a conversation with you some day where you can respond,” John commented as he collected his jacket.

Derek looked over at him, ducking his head in embarrassment as he realized a majority of his conversations with the Sheriff were one-sided.

“Just keep an eye on him,” John stated. “It’d make him feel better knowing you’re okay. Makes me feel better knowing you’re keeping an eye on him.” He gave Derek a small smile before briefly nodding.

Derek watched the Sheriff leave before turning his attention back to Stiles. He watched as Stiles’ breathing remained even, the monitors no longer in danger of spiking in sound. He effortlessly made the leap onto the bed, moving to resume his normal spot on the bed. He hesitated before gently resting his head on Stiles’ stomach. He started to nod off to sleep, the feeling of Stiles’ breathing becoming a soothing rhythm once again. He wasn’t sure how long had passed when he woke to the feeling of fingers running through his fur. He turned his head to look at Stiles, his head jerking up when he noticed that Stiles was awake, staring down at him.

“Hey, sourwolf,” Stiles voice was hoarse, as if he had just woken up. It mirrored his voice from the dream. “Missed you.” The smile gracing his lips wasn’t the typical sly, mocking smile he gave Derek, but rather a relieved, joyful one. One that he used whenever he thought no one was watching him.

Derek felt his heart ache, realizing that _this_ was what he wanted. _This_ was why he stayed in Beacon Hills after he became the Alpha. _This_ was why he came back after bringing Cora to South America. This gorgeous, infuriating, loveable dork pulled Derek back here every time. He missed Stiles’ laugh, seeing his smiles, being comforted by his scent, his horrible jokes. He missed it all, and everything he could possibly want was laying in this hospital bed with him, fingers stroking the back of his neck in a loving manner.

And it scared Derek.

So, Derek did the only thing he could think of. He ran.

He bolted from the bed as quickly as possible, his paws almost slipping out from under him at how quickly he tried moving across the linoleum floor. He heard Stiles’ voice call his name, but he couldn’t go back. He should have never come back to see him. He should have gone back to New York. He should have never allowed himself to fall so hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm evil and don't think they deserve a happy cliffhanger for some strange reason. I'll hopefully update soon, and I hope you enjoyed and didn't cry (too much).


	6. Chapter 6

Each pack member had taken their turns visiting Stiles before going and visiting the loft to check on Derek. They could feel how affected both of them were. Stiles tried to force a smile with Liam, Malia, and Kira, trying to act like his cheerful self, and even succeeding as he produced laugh after laugh. It was when Scott or Lydia visited him that he broke down. Scott and Lydia split turns visiting him before visitor hours ended. They took turns climbing into the narrow hospital bed, wrapping an arm around him in silence as they let him cry without question.

Kira tried to give Derek advice, talking to the loft door as she gave examples of different star-crossed lovers throughout literature who never had it easy. The fact that almost all of the stories ended with the lovers’ deaths didn’t help her argument. Malia offered to run with him, an attempt to lore him out of the loft, to no avail. Lydia stamped her heel loudly, banging on the door before pacing and calling Derek every name she could think of. She got rather creative.

Scott was the only one Derek let into the loft, knowing he wouldn’t demand he tell him the truth. He would sit on the couch, watching Derek carefully. They would often sit together, listening to the beat of each other’s hearts as a comfort to the growing silence. Scott always left without so much as a word, slipping out of the loft as if he never entered in the first place. The routine continued, until one night he paused in front of the door, not turning to face Derek as he spoke.

“It’s okay to want to be happy, Derek,” Scott finally stated. “It’s okay to be afraid, too. But you can’t keep yourself attached to Stiles _and_ want him to detach himself from you. It’s not fair to either of you,” he explained. “Someone needs to tell him that you’re not doing this to hurt him. But I think you’re the only one he’ll believe.” He paused before adding, “He’s being discharged tomorrow. If you care.”

And with that, Scott disappeared out the loft.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Derek tucked one of his legs against his chest as he stared up at the moon. He had been sitting out here, by the burnt ruins of his old family home, waiting for midnight for a few hours. The leaves crunched under his feet as he impatiently shifted. He never intended to come here, but his feet wouldn’t stop moving him towards it as he ran through the woods. His feet were heavy against the ground, his heart throbbing against his chest. He needed to talk to _her_. He needed to hear her voice, her advice. He just needed _her_.

 _This was stupid_ , Derek thought, knowing that the likelihood the haunting hour would work for anyone but a psychic was almost nonexistent. All doubt immediately left him when the hair on the back of his neck stood up, reacting to a familiar weight pushing against his back. He felt a strange warmth radiating from the presence, something that screamed at him to recognize it.

_Home._

_Family._

_Safe._

_Alpha._

_Laura._

“Laura?” Derek’s voice cracked under the heaviness cracking open his chest.

“Took you long enough,” Laura’s voice stated.

A shutter of relief shook his body as Derek closed his eyes. He could feel Laura’s back pressed against his. It was something they often did when taking a break from one of their nightly runs under the moon, a pause that allowed them to talk about everything that happened that day, about what they planned for their future. The last time they spoke was on a night much like this, relaxing against one another as Laura explained that she had to return to Beacon Hills.

“I should have come with you. I shouldn’t have let you come back. I should be the one whose grave you’re visiting.”

“Derek Hale, don’t you dare start that bullshit,” Laura’s voice was stern. “It was my job as Alpha to come back here. It was not your fault or anyone else’s except Peter’s for what happened to me.”

“I was your pack,” Derek weakly argued.

“My pack died a long time ago, baby brother,” Laura stated with a sigh. “I never wanted to be an Alpha, but I accepted it because that’s what mom wanted. Mom was our Alpha … But, it looks like you made a pack of your own.” Derek could hear the smile in Laura’s voice as she spoke.

“Scott’s a good Alpha,” Derek replied. “He cares.”

“You were a good Alpha,” Laura stated.

“All my Betas died,” Derek solemnly noted.

“You cared about them, though,” Laura argued. “You were a cocky shit at first, but you cared. You saved Cora’s life by sacrificing your Alpha spark,” she added.

“It never should have come to that. If I paid more attention to my pack, I would have been able to protect them better.”

“Didn’t you trade in your Camaro because Erica wanted to learn to drive?” She plainly asked. “Stiles told us,” she explained when a look of surprise crossed Derek’s face. “Erica got all emotional that you bought a car for her to learn how to drive with.”

“I didn’t tell Stiles that that was the reason why I did that,” Derek replied.

“You didn’t have to,” Laura replied. “So, this is about him, isn’t it? What did you do this time?”

“I care,” Derek replied.

“Alert the media,” Laura scoffed.

“More than I should,” Derek replied in a sterner voice.

“You don’t have to tell him you love him,” Laura simply replied.

“You don’t get it, I can’t be in a relationship. With anyone. Not again,” Derek’s muscles grew taut as he spoke, recalling both outcomes of his relationships with Kate and Jennifer.

“You were fifteen when Kate preyed on you,” Laura started. “You turned to Jennifer in a moment of weakness—one of your Betas dead, a pack of Alphas biting at your throat with demands that you kill another, worried about Cora. It wasn’t your fault you found comfort in the arms of someone you thought you felt a connection with. Are you seriously worried that Stiles is going to turn out to be like them?”

“What if after all is said and done, he hates me?” Derek asked as he looked up at the moon. “What if when he figures out who the real me is, he doesn’t like it?”

“Derek, the fact that he likes the glaring grump you try promoting yourself as just means that he is going to be even further gone when he finds out other stuff about you.”

“What if he dies because of me?” Derek asked.

“Oh my God, Derek,” Laura groaned. “Are you going to state every single hypothetical situation in an attempt to argue that you shouldn’t be happy? Just because you two get together doesn’t mean it will last, that’s true. Could Stiles die? Yes. But you’re going to waste your whole life thinking ‘what if’ because you were too scared to take a chance.”

“I don’t deserve to have that chance,” Derek replied.

“Derek, I’m your sister, and I love you. But some times, you can be a giant block head,” Laura commented. “You have had a shitty life. And now that you have a chance at something that could be happiness, you are scared to take it because of what might happen if it fails. Just because you trust someone with your life doesn’t mean you are in love with them. But when you act the way you do with Stiles,” she pause, releasing a content sigh. “It’s fucking magical, you know. I’ve seen first hand how he looks when he talks about you. I’ve heard the stories where he makes you out of be the valiant hero. I’ve seen the look in his eyes when he thinks about you, like you’re the greatest gift to mankind. And right now, I can see the way you feel, and you care more than you are letting on.

“And it’s okay to want happiness, baby brother. It’s okay to want something to turn out right. And it’s okay to be afraid that it won’t. But trust me, regret is worse than pain. Regret can beat you down and make it impossible to get back up. So, take that chance, sourwolf.” Laura released a small chuckle at the nickname.

After a few moments, Derek finally spoke. “He told you that, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Laura laughed. “I wish I saw your face.”

Derek smiled at hearing his sister laugh once more. It was a sound he never thought he’d be able to take comfort in again. “I miss you,” his wolf whined as he closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry I can’t be there,” Laura replied. “But I don’t regret anything. Well,” her voice was pensive before she added, “I regret not punching Peter in the face when I visited him in the hospital.”

“I threw him across the living room and into the banister,” Derek offered.

“Nice,” Laura commented.

“Didn’t bring you back, though,” Derek stated. “Even when I ripped his throat out, it didn’t replace you.”

“I want you to do me a favor,” Laura started. “Whenever you start to miss me, feel guilty over what happened, whatever, I want you to think of Cora. Think about the fact that without Peter killing me … without you seeking revenge and taking the Alpha spark from him, Cora would be dead. You saved her, Derek. We both did. And I’m okay with that.”

Derek hesitated as he let Laura’s words sink in. “Okay,” he finally replied as he looked up at the moon, wishing to freeze time in this moment. They remained silent in each other’s company, remembering a simpler time. A time when they were both still young and naïve to the horrors of their world.

“I’m proud of you,” Laura’s voice echoed. “We all are. And … I’m sorry, Derek,” her voice was heavy as she spoke. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you when you needed me most. But I’ll always be here,” her voice started to fade, and Derek knew the hour was coming to an end. “I love you, Derek. And I always will.”

“I love you, Laura,” Derek whispered back as he closed his eyes, letting a stray tear fall from his eyes. He felt Laura’s presence disappear, her comforting weight vanishing from resting against him. And just like that, Derek felt the hit of losing Laura—his Alpha, his confidant, his best friend, his sister—all over again. He didn’t try to hide the tears this time.

~0~0~0~0~0~

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Stiles grumbled from his spot on the couch.

“The doctor said to not leave you alone, and I have back-to-back shifts,” his father responded as he moved to get the door.

Stiles grumbled under his breath, “I’ve been injured and alone before, and I’ve been fine.”

“Didn’t expect you to actually show,” John ignored Stiles as he greeted the person at the door, before turning his head to notice Stiles wasn’t looking. “Derek,” he added, stifling a laugh as Stiles nearly flailed off of the couch.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Stiles asked in an angered voice.

“I said I wasn’t leaving you alone,” John explained as he moved to head into the kitchen.

Stiles stared after his dad, his mouth gaping open and closed like a fish. He tried to avoid looking at Derek as he entered the house, closing the door behind him.

“Where’s Scott?” Stiles yelled after his dad.

“He’s with Kira,” John replied as he entered the living room again. “And Lydia is on a date. I don’t trust Malia and Liam to keep you alive. Besides, Derek offered.”

Stiles’ head shot up, looking at his father in disbelief. He tried to not look over at Derek, unsuccessfully flickering his eyes over to him.

“Be nice,” John stated to Stiles, ruffling his hair. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning.” He nodded at Derek as he walked by him, heading for the door. “Try not to kill each other,” he added before the door shut behind him.

Derek lingered in his spot, the silence between them growing as Stiles refused to look at him. He must have perfected having the presence of a wounded animal, because Stiles released an aggravated sigh before shooting him a look.

“You don’t have to stand there like a statue. Sit down,” Stiles almost barked before struggling to reach for the remote on the coffee table. He tried to ignore the way Derek’s shirt snuggly moved across his torso as he shrugged his leather jacket off. It was an action Stiles saw countless times, but he didn’t want to focus on it right now. He ignored the fact that he caught a glimpse of the hair dusted under Derek’s navel, a trail leading underneath his jeans.

 _Can he not buy clothes that fit him?_ Stiles bitterly thought as he gave up on the remote. He was surprised when Derek moved closer, picking up the remote and handing it to him. It was a peace offering and Stiles knew it. He looked up at Derek before snatching the remote out of his hand. He mumbled a curt ‘thanks,’ turning on the television to mindlessly flip through the channels.

After nearly a half hour in silence, Derek finally asked, “How are you?”

Stiles turned his head to look at him, an expression of slight annoyance on his face before he settled on looking pissed off. “Why are you here, Derek?” He wanted to know why he bothered showing up now.

“Your father said he wanted someone to stay with you,” Derek explained, keeping his eyes fixed on the screen. “He’s done a lot for me, I figured I’d help him out.”

Stiles actually growled in response, causing Derek to look at him. “Fuck you,” he finally said, struggling to get to his feet. “Is it that hard to say you’re sorry for being an ass? To admit that you were actually concerned that I might die?”

Derek was standing, prepared to help Stiles as he stood. He pulled his hands back, crossing them over his chest when Stiles shot him a glare.

“You’re an asshole,” Stiles stated. “And I really hate you.” He moved to march over to the stairs, ignoring the fact that his side was hurting the more he moved.

“Do you want me to leave?” Derek asked in a soft voice.

“I don’t care what you do, Derek,” Stiles replied. “You always do whatever you want anyways.” He started up the steps.

“Where are you going?” Derek asked as he remained glued to his spot.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Stiles shot back. “I would appreciate it if you waited, in case I fall and break my neck. Then you can run back to your wolf den.”

Derek couldn’t help the small smile he felt pull at his lips. He was glad that Stiles was back to himself, snapping at Derek instead of feeling like he should be nice to him.

Stiles was in the shower for a whole of two minutes before he loudly shouted in pain. Derek took the steps, almost three at a time, before he was instantly outside the bathroom door, knocking to get Stiles’ attention.

“Are you alright?” Derek asked.

“No,” Stiles partially whined.

“I’m coming in,” Derek plainly stated as he started to turn the door handle.

“No!” Stiles protested.

“Stiles, if you’re hurt—”

“I’m naked,” Stiles argued.

“I would hope you took a shower naked,” Derek deadpanned.

“I’m fine!” Stiles replied. “Ah!” He yelled again, another banging noise followed by a whimper.

“I’m coming in,” Derek stated as he opened the door, despite Stiles’ previous protests.

The bathroom was full of steam, the mirror partially fogged up from the heat. It wasn’t until Derek looked at the stall that he realized Stiles’ reason for protesting Derek’s entrance. The glass of the shower stall was clear, offering Stiles no privacy from someone catching sight of him. Stiles had drawn his knees against his chest, his back curved as he sat next to the drain. It was all a weak attempt to hide his body from Derek.

Derek tried to not stare, but it was the first time he could see the wounds across Stiles’ back, a reminder of the wendigo. He shook his head, trying to give Stiles the privacy he deserved as he turned his head. He slid the shower door open, sensing Stiles’ body tensing at the action. He turned the water off, keeping his head turned away.

“You slipped, didn’t you?” Derek gently asked.

“Yeah,” Stiles sheepishly responded.

“Here,” Derek started as he offered his hand to him. He wasn’t sure what Stiles was doing, but when he didn’t sense him moving, he released a small sigh. “Stiles, I’m not looking at you.”

“Okay,” Stiles finally agreed, reaching his hand out to take Derek’s. He used both hands to hold onto Derek’s arm, pulling himself up with some difficulty. He was thankful that Derek was strong enough to remain steady as he pulled against him. “Can you get me my towel?” He asked, his embarrassment evident in his voice.

Derek waited for Stiles to release his arm before he moved to grab the neatly folded towel on the counter. As his hand touched the soft material, his eyes aimlessly flickered over the mirror. He felt his breath halt in his lungs when he saw that the steam had evaporated from the reflective surface. The way Stiles was standing gave him a perfect glimpse of his body.

Stiles shoulders were hunched as he leaned against the glass door for support. Random red blotches decorated his pale skin, reminders of the hot water beating down on him moments ago. Droplets of water ran across his skin, dipping down his throat before diving into his clavicle. There was a faint blush on Stiles’ cheeks, a few water drops still clinging to his eyelashes as he stared at the ground, waiting for Derek to hand him his towel. His lips were partially parted as he tried to catch his breath, tired from struggling with the fact that he exerted himself more than he thought, much weaker now than before the accident.

 _I never should have offered to do this_ , Derek groaned to himself. He wanted a chance to talk to Stiles, but being in his house alone with him was not ideal for clearly expressing what was going through his mind. He immediately turned his gaze away when his eyes started to fall below Stiles’ navel. He shoved the towel out towards Stiles, a silent gesture for him to hurry and take it. As soon as the material left Derek’s hand, he exited the bathroom. He waited in the hallway for Stiles to finally exit the bathroom.

“I think I might have torn a stitch,” Stiles mumbled, securely holding the towel around his waist.

Derek nodded in understanding, following Stiles into his bedroom. He kept his arms crossed over his chest as he watched Stiles move to gently sit on the edge of the bed. He hesitated before taking a few steps closer. His eyes roamed over the claw marks, amazed that Stiles wasn’t paralyzed by how deep and severe they looked.

“Is there any ointment you’re supposed to have on them?” Derek asked, his eyes glued on the claw marks.

“Yeah,” Stiles gestured towards his nightstand as he spoke. “Deaton gave me that stuff. It’s supposed to excel healing. But,” he took a deep breath. “I’ll have these things forever.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek replied as he picked up the jar of ointment. The jar was decorated with a Druid symbol, one Derek recognized from Deaton’s stock.

“It’s not your fault,” Stiles stated.

Derek only stared at the back of Stiles’ head, uncertain he wanted to believe his words. He didn’t want Stiles to forgive him. He wanted Stiles to yell at him, to tell him that he no longer cared. To make it easier for him by allowing him to walk away.

Derek moved to sit behind Stiles, bending one of his legs to measure out enough room to keep himself from pushing into Stiles. It was a small guarantee that he would stay far enough back, no matter how much he wanted to nuzzle his neck. They both remained silent as Derek gently applied the ointment over Stiles’ stitches. He made sure to carefully inspect them at Stiles’ suggestion that he may have torn one. He felt a shiver move through Stiles’ body when he rubbed his thumb over the jagged bumps.

Derek hesitated before he asked, “Do they still hurt?”

“A little. Mainly if I stretch the wrong way too much,” Stiles stated. “Sometimes in my sleep. I thrash around some,” he added.

“Thrashing?” Derek fingers slowed as he concentrated on Stiles’ heartbeat, an attempt to avoid detection as he carefully drained some of his pain away.

“I’ve been having night terrors,” Stiles admitted. “They’re not like the old ones though.” He sounded as if he was trying to put Derek at ease, an attempt to reassure him that the terrors were nothing like before.

“What are they now?” Derek found himself asking.

“Stupid, really. I shouldn’t get so riled up about them,” Stiles murmured, absentmindedly pushing his body back into the comfort of Derek’s hands.

“I still dream about the fire,” Derek suddenly admitted. “I wasn’t there, but sometimes … Sometimes it’s so real, I can smell the smoke. It’s normal to be afraid of something that feels real.”

Stiles nodded, somewhat surprised that Derek offered to share such an intimate detail with him. “I’m sorry about that,” he almost mumbled. He waited a beat before finally offering up his own nightmare. “They used to be dreams that I had all the time when I was little. When my mom got sick.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “I’m running in the woods. I think it’s the preserve, actually. And I can’t see anything but the woods. And originally, the dream would always start with something chasing me—nothing threatening, but playful actually—and I never knew what it was until a few years later, when I finally could looked back and see it.”

“What was it?” Derek asked, trying to not get his hopes up. If Stiles said what he thought he was going to say, then it wasn’t just a dream. It was a Calling. Derek’s Calling.

“A wolf,” Stiles weakly admitted. “A black wolf.”

“What happened that it’s now a night terror?” Derek tried to fight back the longing whine caught in his throat.

“It’s reversed now,” Stiles replied. “I’m chasing after the wolf, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t catch up to it. And it’s not waiting for me to catch up like I used to do for it. It keeps pulling away like it’s trying to leave me behind. And then next thing I know, I feel the sharp pain of claws in my back, something dragging me to the ground and yanking me backwards. But the wolf … It just keeps running, even as I scream for it to come back.”

Derek remained silent, his fingers still against Stiles’ warm skin. A sharp spark electrified between them, jumping through Stiles and into Derek. It was the same feeling Derek had the night he dreamt that he finally caught Stiles—finally held Stiles in his arms and refused to let go.

“Did … did the wolf ever catch you?” Derek hesitated as he asked.

“Yeah,” Stiles hesitated, his voice laced with worry. “Why?”

“When you were in the hospital,” Derek stated instead of asked. “Before you woke up.”

Stiles’ muscles tightened, his entire body becoming rigid under the tension. He kept staring forward at the edge of his comforter, pretending it was the most fascinating thing he ever laid eyes on.

“Stiles,” Derek gently called his name. “Do you remember?”

“That’s impossible,” Stiles’ voice croaked. “How do you—”

“Before Paige, before the fire, I had a dream that I was chasing someone. Someone I could never see, but they always beckoned me to come closer,” Derek explained, unsure if he should continue or not, but unable to stop himself. “I caught them. The night you woke up, I was in my wolf form, sleeping in the hospital bed with you. And when I had the dream that night … I finally caught you.”

“Caught up to me,” Stiles almost murmured, echoing what he said in their dream. He slowly turned his head to look at Derek. His eyes were glazed over with tears, the impossible becoming a reality. “But it was a dream,” he faintly argued with himself.

“It’s called a Calling,” Derek explained. “Supernatural creatures often have them when they feel most vulnerable. We call out to …” He paused as he tried to choose his words carefully, not wanting to freak Stiles out. “To the person who makes us whole.”

“But I didn’t know you then,” Stiles almost whispered, still staring at Derek.

“I don’t know,” Derek admitted. “I don’t know how it’s possible, but it is.”

“This sounds insane,” Stiles choked back a small laugh. He wanted to laugh at his life. He wanted to shout at the heavens, and damn them for making his life doomed from the start; for attaching him to Derek Hale before he even knew he existed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Derek hesitated, finally pulling his hands away from Stiles before he completely lost himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you,” he honestly replied. “Get dressed,” he started as he suddenly stood, putting distance between them. “Come down stairs and I’ll answer any questions you have.”

Stiles hesitated, looking up at Derek to search for something he was certain wouldn’t be there. _Trust_. “Any questions?”

“Any questions,” Derek echoed. “I promise I won’t run.”

Stiles nodded, understanding that whatever happened next was going to determine how this all ended. Whatever truths Derek revealed were going to dictate what happened between them. Stiles wanted to admit that he was frightened by the idea. How often did someone get a chance to ask Derek Hale anything they wanted?

Stiles took his time getting dressed, the butterflies in his stomach swooping and twisting in loops. The only think he could focus on was the fact that Derek was in his house, and they were about to have the talk he wanted to have for more than a year. _No time to act like the aftermath of a life and death situation._

By the time Stiles made his way downstairs, he found Derek in the kitchen. He leaned against the doorframe as he watched Derek busy himself with stirring two steaming mugs. He watched the way Derek easily moved around the kitchen, and something stirred inside him. He was somewhat shocked when he realized that he enjoyed the idea of Derek becoming acquainted with his house, to feel comfortable enough that he felt welcomed in doing domestic things like this.

Derek turned around, one of the mugs in his hands. If Stiles didn’t know better, he would think that he actually managed to sneak up on the werewolf. Derek’s surprised expression at seeing Stiles standing in the doorway suggested that he did. Derek moved closer to the table, placing the mug down on the surface. He gestured for Stiles to take a seat, before he turned his attention back to the other mug.

Stiles moved to take the chair in front of the mug, keeping his eyes on Derek the entire time. It was strange for Stiles to be alone with Derek, unable to recall the last time they were like this. He wrapped his hands around the mug, taking comfort in its heat. His fingers gently drummed against the glass as he pondered what his first question for Derek would be. He wanted to ask him why the sudden change, but he was afraid it would be an answer similar to last time. _Protecting the pack by protecting the weakest link_. He sighed as he brought the mug to his lips, carefully sipping the hot liquid. His eyes widened when the familiar taste and aroma of honey hit him. He set the mug down as his hands began to tremble under its weight.

“Why do you do this?” Stiles asked as he stared at the tea in his mug.

“Do what?” Derek asked as he continued to stir his coffee, pretending he didn’t know what Stiles meant.

“Ignore me than treat me like this,” Stiles stated. “I mean, I understood why you did it after I confessed everything to you. You didn’t want me overthinking everything, I get that. But why did you stay with me?” He looked up at Derek for the first time. He was holding back the tears that continued to sting his eyes, determined to not break down in front of Derek. “Why did you tell me you’d come back? Why give me hope, Derek, if it all means nothing?” His voice cracked as he spoke.

Derek moved to set his coffee on the counter, crossing his arms as he stared at the floor between Stiles’ feet. He promised Stiles he wouldn’t lie, that he wouldn’t run anymore. There was no more hiding from it, not anymore.

“You make me feel like I’m the only person that matters. You always have. And I never felt that before. And I was scared,” Derek admitted. “I was scared and I thought it was better to make you hate me. I thought … I thought I didn’t deserve you. And then the way you looked at me when I came to see you that night in the hospital. You looked at me as if I was it for you. And I made the decision that I had to give you up one last time.”

There was a moment of silence before Stiles’ anger broke through. “You .. you asshole!” Stiles stated through the tears that stung his eyes. “You _don’t_ get to decide something like that! You don’t get to decide how I should feel!”

“I’m sorry, Stiles. I never meant to hurt you. You’re the last person I’d want to hurt,” Derek honestly admitted. “I thought I could never feel this way again without it hurting. But then I realized too late that I didn’t have to be afraid of being abandoned. I just needed someone who wouldn’t disappear. I realized too late that you were the one that stayed … the one that mattered. But I couldn’t … I still can’t, say what you want me to say. I can’t confess that, not yet.”

Stiles knew Derek was talking about ‘love’. But he couldn’t accept that either. He never asked Derek to tell him that he loved him. He only wanted him to take a chance on him, like he took a chance on Derek.

“You don’t get to say things like that, Derek. You don’t,” Stiles stated through his tears. He cried as he push his hands over his face, his fingers carding through his hair as he struggled with the way his emotions ran away from him. Because he didn’t hate Derek. In fact, he still loved him. After all this time, Derek had managed to curl himself around Stiles’ heart, sunk his claws in and refused to let go. And he hated _that_ about him. He hated that his feelings for Derek still held such a powerful sway over him.

There were times when Stiles felt like he could feel Derek howling loudly at the moon, calling him home, but he always chalked it up to wishful thinking. But maybe he was right. Maybe, for that year, Derek was staring up at the moon, begging for Stiles’ return—for his forgiveness—the only way he knew how to.

“You can’t just apologize and think that it erases everything that happened,” Stiles stated. “I’ve had to build myself back up, Derek. I’ve spent the past year trying to get over you. And you … You can’t just say things like that and expect me to accept that you actually feel that way. That you just don’t feel guilty.” He let out a heavy sigh as he stood, abandoning both his tea and Derek in the kitchen.

“I love that you are the last person I think of before I fall asleep,” Derek finally admitted in a burst. He released a built up breath when Stiles stopped walking away. “I love that you constantly speak your mind, despite the consequences. I love that you call me these ridiculously stupid nicknames. I love that you put too much honey in your tea.” He was thankful when Stiles finally turned to look at him. “I love that you’re the first person I want to see when I wake up. And I love that you took a chance on me—that you valued me enough to care. And that’s what scared me. It scared me that you had that effect on me, and that if you left me, I’d break. It scared me because I’m vulnerable to you, and I’m okay with that.”

The silence between them grew, a tension building the longer they both remained silent.

“You say things like that, and you make it _impossible_ for me to hate you!” Stiles struggled through his tears, knowing it was true. “The minute I knew I really cared about you, you told me to save someone else. You pushed me away, Derek, and you’ve been pushing me away ever since. But now … Now that I’m trying to move on, you do _this_.

“Damn you, Derek Hale. Before you came back to Beacon Hills, I was happy being ignored, you know that? I was happy being the outcast that no one gave a second glance. But then you came along and treated me like I mattered! Only to rip it all away. I spent a long time building myself back up, Derek.”

“I know,” Derek admitted. “I know I fucked up. And there is no apology in the world that can change what I said and what I did. But I never meant to hurt you, Stiles. You’re the last person I would ever hurt.”

“I can’t,” Stiles’ words came out as a breath, moving his body away from Derek. “I can’t do this.”

Derek nodded, knowing he was the one that messed up all those years ago. “Okay,” he finally stated. “For what it’s worth,” he hesitated as he thought about his next words. “I never meant for you to get hurt. I was in a bad place, for a long time. And if I wasn’t, I … I could have showed you what it meant to hear your confession … What you meant to me—what you still mean.”

“I think you should go,” Stiles managed to utter between intakes of sharp breathing.

Derek hesitated before he nodded. “Okay. I’ll, uh, call Scott to come check on you later,” his voice was weak as he spoke. He took one last look at Stiles before turning to leave.

Stiles waited until he heard the front door shut, then he let himself break down. His hand covered his face as he completely let go of everything, the sobs shaking his body.

And just like that, with tears in his eyes, Stiles let Derek go.

~0~0~0~0~0~

More than a week passed since Derek had talked with Stiles. He knew he deserved far less from Stiles than him asking to leave, but it still hurt. He wished he had told Stiles the truth. He wished he hadn’t dragged everyone through his emotional baggage.

He pulled the sleeves of his sweater down around his hands, forgetting how much he loved being wrapped in its material. He was surprised that Stiles was the one who had it the entire time he searched for it. He was happy Stiles gave it back to him that night; grateful that it still smelled like Stiles.

“Derek?” Braeden’s concerned voice called out from the speaker.

“Sorry, Brae,” Derek apologized as he rubbed his hand over his face.

“It’s okay,” Braeden replied. “I know it’s distracting.”

“I shouldn’t be bothering you with this,” Derek replied. “I’ve already messed your life up, as it is.”

“Stop it,” Braeden sighed. “I already told you I don’t blame you for that. You need to stop blaming yourself. We had a good run, Derek. And just because Stiles told you to get out, doesn’t mean he’s not still thinking about you.”

“False hope isn’t really my thing,” Derek replied as he relaxed into the couch.

“But self-pity is,” Braeden’s voice danced through the receiver, her small laugh evident.

“This is why I called you, you tell me how it is,” Derek replied. “You don’t try to cover up when I’m being an idiot.”

“It’s a rare gift,” Braeden stated. “So, you’ve finally accepted falling for him?”

Derek pondered Braeden’s question as he looked down at his sweater—a sweater that still overwhelmed his senses with one smell: the overpowering scent of Stiles.

“You could say that,” Derek replied as he picked at the knitted fabric.

“You confessed why you were so emotionally constipated and rejected him,” Braeden reasoned. “I would say the next step was you blurting out how you can’t live without him.”

“I already took the sappy plunge, thanks,” Derek deadpanned.

“I think it was romantic,” Braeden argued against him. “Telling him how you care without having to take that next plunge. That’s all people want to hear, Derek. That both parties are equally invested in the other.”

“What happens when that party misses their chance?” Derek asked.

“You move on,” Braeden replied. “Or, you wait it out and try showing that person how wrong you were. How much you really do care.”

“So, you want me to court Stiles?” Derek half-heartedly asked. But Derek knew that deep down, he would willingly leap at the chance to court Stiles if it meant he fixed everything.

“No,” Braeden laughed. “I’m telling you to stop sulking and be there for your pack. Stiles didn’t reject you or demand that you stop existing in his life. He needed time. And in that time, maybe you need to adjust to everything. Take some you time and realize that you don’t have to be with someone to have value.”

Derek let out a content sigh, soaking up Braeden’s words. He knew she was right. Just because Stiles asked him to leave that night meant nothing. Stiles deserved the space, and he wasn’t going to argue against him. He had grown so accustomed to being alone, that he never fully accepted the idea of being with someone. The idea of choosing a person, only to have them not interested.

“Someone’s here,” Derek finally uttered when he heard the footsteps approaching the loft door.

“Try not to kill someone,” Braeden replied. “I’ll talk to you later?” It wasn’t really a request as it was a statement.

“Yeah, I’ll talk to you later,” Derek replied as he stood. “Bye, Brae.”

“Bye, Derek,” Braeden replied before hanging up.

Derek made his way over to the door, listening to the person’s hesitation when they reached the door. The person must have turned from and towards the door at least a dozen times before they let out a heavy sigh to calm their heartbeat. The person knocked with determination, the sound echoing throughout the loft.

Derek grabbed the door handle, quickly sliding the door open. He came face to face with a doe-eyed Stiles. Stiles only stared at first, his eyes blinking several times as he took Derek in. It was then that Derek noticed Stiles was drenched, his hair pressing down in a moppy mess as droplets of water clung to his eyelashes.

“It’s, uh, raining out,” Stiles stated, cramming his hands in his pockets as he tried not to fidget.

“Oh,” Derek replied, looking over his shoulder to look outside the giant window. He didn’t have to look to know it was raining. He could still smell the scent of fresh rain on Stiles’ body. “Do you …” he hesitated before turning back to look at Stiles. “Do you want to come in?”

Stiles looked relieved at Derek’s offer, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, thanks,” he partially mumbled as he slipped passed Derek and into the loft.

“I’ll get you a towel,” Derek replied as he shut the door.

“You don’t have to,” Stiles argued.

“You’ll catch pneumonia,” Derek replied as he looked Stiles up and down.

“Oh, yeah. Right,” Stiles stated, realizing that he was making the situation more awkward as he argued against logic.

Derek disappeared up the stairs to the bathroom, returning with a towel and dry clothes. He offered Stiles the towel before setting the clothes on the coffee table. “I’ll make some tea,” he stated as he started to move towards the kitchen. He paused, turning around to face Stiles. He noticed Stiles was staring at him, his face unreadable. “Do you want honey in it?” Derek knew the answer, but he didn’t want to upset Stiles again. _The last two times you made him cry. You made Stiles cry over honey. God, I’m the worst._

“Um,” Stiles looked a little lost. “Yeah. Like always,” there was a light hearted undertone in his voice as he spoke.

Derek only nodded before turning his back on Stiles once more. Making tea didn’t take as long as Derek wished it had. He moved at a snail’s pace as he tried to waste enough time to guarantee that Stiles had a chance to completely change.

“Are these mine?” Stiles asked when Derek finally came back over to the couch.

“Huh?” Derek asked as he looked at Stiles.

The shirt was a little baggier on Stiles than Derek expected it to be. The sweatpants clung to Stiles’ hips, looking as if they were in danger of slipping off.

“I must of stretched them out, sorry,” Derek mumbled as he placed Stiles’ mug on the coffee table.

“Oh, don’t be. I grabbed them to put you in,” Stiles nervously laughed as he busied himself with toweling his hair dry.

Derek nodded, watching Stiles’ simple action of drying his hair, and an unknown force pulled at his heart. He couldn’t count the times he daydreamed about being able to witness Stiles doing mundane activities like that in his presence. Like they were a couple.

“So, how is everything?” Stiles hesitated as he held the towel around his neck.

Derek looked at Stiles, partially confused. “Is that why you stopped by?” He questioned. “You could text,” his voice was void of all hope he had earlier.

“I would have, if I thought you’d answer,” Stiles replied, taking a few steps toward Derek. “And that isn’t why I stopped by.”

Derek looked up at Stiles as he moved around the couch, a small attempt to put space between them. Stiles seemed to have caught onto Derek’s reason for moving as he too moved around the other end of the couch.

“I had some stuff I had to think about,” Stiles admitted. “But, um, I think I’ve come to a conclusion.” He looked up through his eyelashes at Derek. He took the towel from his shoulders, and gently rested it on the back of the couch. “A conclusion about … _this_ ,” he gestured between them before taking a small step closer to Derek.

Derek looked down at the mug in his hands, trying to keep control of his heartbeat. _Of course Stiles is the one to make you lose control_ , he thought, trying to ignore the overwhelming smell of _Stiles_ assaulting his senses.

“I thought about what you said,” Stiles started. “And I accept it. All of it,” he hesitated when Derek didn’t respond. “But I meant what I said when I told you I spent a long time building myself up again. And I don’t think I can be in a relationship right now.” He released a pitiful laugh before adding, “We keep dancing around each other, and we’re never in the same place.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek replied.

“Please don’t,” Stiles begged as he took the last remaining steps between them. “You don’t have to apologize about anything. It’s life,” he carded a hand through his hair as he watched Derek continue to stare at the mug in his hands. He reached out, gently slipping the mug from Derek’s hands before nearly falling over the couch as he stretched to place it on the coffee table as well.

Stiles turned back to Derek, gently easing their hands together. _So far, so good_ , he thought to himself, knowing that Derek could easily swat him off if he wanted to. He stared down at their hands, committing to memory the way they fit together. He took a deep breath before saying what he came to say. “I want something to happen between us,” he started. “I really do. But I don’t think that will benefit either of us right now.” He looked up at Derek, noticing that he was still staring down, avoiding eye contact with him.

Stiles reached up, gently cupping Derek’s face in his hands as he forced him to look up. “I need to know you understand what I’m saying,” he started, staring into Derek’s eyes. “I feel something for you, Derek, and there is no changing that. And I’m always going to feel something,” he admitted. “But right now, I think I’m not in the right place. And I can’t believe I’m saying that,” he let out a nervous laugh. “You’re all I ever really wanted. To have someone to treat me the way you’ve treated me. Except, we’re both not ready. If we took that chance, and you end up pulling away from me again … I don’t think I could bounce back from that. But I …”

Stiles ducked his head as he closed his eyes, unsure if he should continue. He didn’t want to make it harder on Derek, but he had to tell him. He had to let Derek know the effect he had on him. He forced himself to look up at Derek, noticing for the first time how close they were. Either one of them could push the last few inches to seal their lips together.

“I love you, Derek Hale,” Stiles confessed, keeping eye contact with him as he placed one hand on Derek’s chest. “Do you hear me? I’m saying I love you, _and_ that I’m letting you go.”

Derek stared at him, the weight of Stiles’ words slowly hitting him. “I can’t say it—not yet—but … someday,” he admitted.

Stiles let a stray tear fall down his cheek, thankful that Derek quickly brushed it away with his thumb. “Someday,” he echoed Derek’s word, keeping his hand tightly pressed against his chest. “But I’m not asking you to wait.”

“And I’m not asking you to, either,” Derek instantly responded.

“Okay,” Stiles breathlessly stated, a small wave of relief washing over him.

“Okay,” Derek mirrored his confirmation. He ran his fingers across Stiles’ cheek, memorizing every delicate curve of his face. He smiled when he felt Stiles’ fingers tighten around his shirt.

“I should go,” Stiles hoarsely whispered as he stared at Derek’s lips, unable to stop himself from licking his own.

“You could stay,” Derek offered, his own voice heavy with emotion.

“I’m going back to school tomorrow,” Stiles explained. It wasn’t an excuse, just a fact that solidified he’d be leaving at an ungodly hour. But the thought of staying up all night, wrapped up in Derek’s arms, was exactly how he wanted to spend his last night in Beacon Hills before the new school semester.

“Just one night, then,” Derek replied. “It doesn’t change what we said,” he gently ran his thumb along Stiles’ cheekbone, a comforting gesture that pulled a shiver through Stiles’ body. “You don’t have to,” he added, wanting to make sure Stiles understood his offer.

Stiles took his time, weighing the pros and cons. He wanted to be with Derek, at least once, but he wasn’t sure if it would make it harder to walk away later. He found himself nodding. “I want to,” his voice was steady as he responded, despite the intensity of his heartbeat.

One last stolen moment before they parted.

Stiles pushed forward, his lips capturing Derek’s. It was everything he could have hoped it to be, yet it wasn’t enough. Something told Stiles that he would never be able to get enough when it came to Derek. Pushing his hands up over Derek’s shoulder, Stiles eased his sweater off of him.

Derek let the sweater fall off his arms before latching onto Stiles, like he was the last thing anchoring him to earth. His hands cupped his neck, thumbs gently caressing the delicate skin under his jaw. The kiss deepened, both chasing the other as they let everything over the past year go. Their heartache, their loneliness, their guilt. Everything was being erased in that moment, nothing but them mattered anymore.

It wasn’t difficult to find their way back to the bed, their limbs tangling together as they attempted to undress one another. Stiles laughed when he bumped heads with Derek, pulling an equally delighted smile from Derek. He easily pushed Derek back onto the bed, smirking when Derek let him. He moved to straddle his legs, running his hands up along Derek’s torso to settle on his shoulders as he leaned in to capture his lips once more. He lolled his head backwards as Derek released his lips in favor of marking the skin of his throat.

Stiles let a small shudder escape his lips, his head fallen back as he tried to get ahold of himself. It was all too much but not enough. Derek’s hands roaming across his body felt more than right. The gentle way they curved and cupped every inch of him was like a dream. He tried to contain his need to feel every part of Derek, his own hands moving from their place in Derek’s hair in favor of caressing the span of his shoulders. He wanted to cry how right it felt to finally be holding on to each other. Being held by Derek was something he never felt before, something he was positive he might never feel again.

Stiles brought his head back down to look at Derek, watching his facial features carefully as he stared at his chest. He could tell Derek was mapping out every scar the wendigo left, and he desperately wished he wouldn’t look at them. He knew he was thinking about what happened, about how he almost lost him.

“Hey, hey,” Stiles called to him, cupping his face in his hands as he forced him to look him in the eyes. He could see the pain and guilt there, prompting him to lean forward to place a chaste kiss on Derek’s forehead. “It’s okay,” he whispered, moving his lips to plant another kiss on each of Derek’s closed eyelids. “You saved me,” another kiss on to tip of his nose.

Derek finally opened his eyes, looking up at Stiles’ welcoming amber ones to finally accept that it was okay. It was okay because Stiles said it was, and that was all that mattered to Derek in that moment. He leaned in, pressing his lips to Stiles’, committing to memory the way they felt. The way Stiles sighed into his mouth. The way their breathing became one.

Stiles fondly smiled as Derek turned them, resting him back onto the bed. He let his head fall back against the pillow, watching Derek as he moved to trail series of small kisses along his scars. Derek’s kisses were deliberately covering every part of Stiles’ scars, making him delight in the way Derek’s lips somehow erased all the pain the scars had caused. He let the shivers flow through his body, letting himself feel every moment of this, because there was no denying that this was their goodbye. This was their promise that it all meant something. That no matter what happened, they would always have this night.

“Derek,” Stiles called to him, running his hand through Derek’s hair before gently curling his fingers against his cheek.

Derek moved up Stiles’ body, settling his hips in Stiles’ welcoming thighs as he kissed him. His forearms rested by the pillow, his arms gently housing Stile’s head as his fingers played with the tousled strands of his hair.

Time was irrelevant as they slowly took every second to caress and kiss every part of each other they could. There wasn’t a moment when either could clearly tell where they ended and the other began. The moon shown brightly through the windows, illuminating them to allow them enough light to bask in their exchange.

Heavy breaths and pleasured cries filled the room, both of them left powerless to one another, letting go for the first time. Their hearts beating in sync as they clasped onto each other tightly, the only things anchoring them to reality was the other.

“Please,” Stiles begged, digging his nails into the Derek’s shoulder blades, hopelessly grasping to keep Derek from pulling away too soon. He kissed up into Derek’s lips as their hips rocked together in a perfected rhythm that felt like they had done this a million times before. Their kiss was full of teeth pulling mouths closer, lips crushing together, and tongues exploring each other’s mouth. It was everything Stiles expected it to be, yet something completely new.

“I love you,” Stiles’ breathed into their kiss. “I’m sorry, but I do,” he whispered, pressing his face in the dip of Derek’s shoulder, hiding under the safety of his throat.

Derek reached out to Stiles’ arm, rearranging him until his opened hand was tightly pressed against Derek’s chest. He pressed his hand over Stiles’, casing his hand in an unyielding compress.

Stiles pulled back from Derek’s shoulder to look down at their hands, feeling a sharp pang run through his chest when he noticed how perfect—how right—his hand looked being encompassed by Derek’s, pressed up against his chest. He could feel Derek’s heart beating beneath his hand, its usual calm rhythm heightened as his heart beat heavy against his chest.

“You do this to me,” Derek stated as he pressed his forehead against Stiles’. “Just you,” he added, closing his eyes.

Stiles barely nodded, tears roll down his cheek as he placed a kiss against Derek’s lips, overwhelmed by Derek’s confession. He let out a moan as Derek gently bit his lower lip, clutching at his hips. He ground his hips into Derek’s, turning it into a rhythm they both met in earnest. He laughed as Derek sat back to yank Stiles’ pants off, followed by the removal of his own. He watched Derek as he reached for the nightstand, collecting the lube and condom. He made grabby hands at Derek before he hooked his arms, pulling himself upright to place a small kiss on Derek’s chest.

“Oh God, I can’t think with you like this,” Stiles partially moaned, grazing his teeth over his nipple.

Derek groaned in response, “Jesus, Stiles.” He ran his hand through Stiles’ hair, his nails scraping against his scalp.

Stiles easily pulled the lube and condom out of Derek’s hand, looking down at the two items before tossing the condom off to the side.

“Stiles,” Derek called his name. “We shouldn’t—”

“You gave me blood,” Stiles explained. “I may or may not have snuck a look at the sheet,” he smiled into their kiss.

“Why am I not surprised?” Derek replied with a smile of his own.

“Oh shit,” Stiles briefly pulled away from him. “I just assumed you were worried about me … I’m clean. I, uh, did not think that through,” he nearly mumbled as he started to lean over to grab the previously discarded condom.

Derek reached over, lacing his fingers with Stiles’ as he pulled him back to him. “Lycanthropy prevents catching … things,” he bobbed his head from side to side.

“‘Things’?” Stiles smirked.

“Things,” Derek smiled back, planting a chaste kiss on Stiles’ lips to shut him up.

“Derek,” Stiles whined against his mouth, pulling him closer to him as he laid back on the bed. He elevated his hips, allowing Derek enough space to slip his briefs down his hips and off his legs. He let his legs rest against Derek’s hips, pulling him closer as they moved back together to kiss.

“Naked, you, now,” Stiles breathed as he rubbed the tube of lube in his hands to warm it. He moved his legs apart to give Derek enough room to pull off his own briefs. He passed him the lube, caressing his chest while running his fingers through his chest hair. He rocked his hips against Derek’s, creating a steady rhythm.

It wasn’t like the times before, not that Stiles would ever dignify his other experiences as worthy of being compared to Derek. But every move—every angle—was perfect. They knew exactly how their bodies would react to the other’s touch.

Stiles’ hand clenched the sheets tightly as the other gripped Derek’s shoulder as Derek built up a slow rhythm, his hands holding onto Stiles’ hips.

“Oh my God, Derek,” Stiles called out in a breathy moan, trying to match Derek’s thrusts. He cursed loudly when Derek changed position, draping his whole body over Stiles. They both clung to each other as the rhythm became faster, harder with each of their pleas.

The night bore on as if time wasn’t a factor. Every time Stiles arched his back, pressing himself into Derek, Derek never lost the solid rhythm of their hips rolling to meet one another. Every time Derek nuzzled his face against Stiles’ throat to muffle the noise of his orgasm, Stiles tried hard to commit that sound to memory as he clutched him tightly to his body.

It was all a blur of time when Derek dragged Stiles out of the bed, both of them exhausted. Stiles suppressed his groan of protest when he realized Derek was leading them to the bathroom. They took their time washing each other, making sure to dedicate attention to every part of the other’s body. Stiles muffled his laughter when Derek’s beard tickled his shoulder, something he knew he’d never forget the feeling of. He hoped his skin would carry a beard burn for the next few days.

It was well into the early hours of the morning by the time they collapsed into bed. Stiles took the opportunity to push into Derek’s arms, finding the comfort he knew he would find there. He released a happy sigh when Derek gently nuzzled the back of his scalp, inhaling Stiles’ scent.

They rolled and rearranged themselves throughout the night. Some times Stiles would hog the sheets, other times Derek tightly wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waist and didn’t let go. The worst was when Stiles woke up, not because of Derek, but because of the bright sun shining through the window.

Stiles wanted to groan, to protest that it wasn’t morning. _Not yet_ , he argued as he pressed his face into the warm skin beneath him. _Just a little longer_. He wanted to beg that the night wouldn’t end. But like every fairy tale, this too had an ending. He slowly pulled himself out of Derek’s hold, moving as quietly as possible to collect his clothes from the couch.

Stiles never dressed himself as slowly as he did now. He kept looking back at Derek, noticing he hadn’t moved since he left the bed. He waited until he was completely dressed before he moved back to the bed. He watched Derek for a few moments before he crawled over part of the bed to get to him. “Derek,” he gently called his name, placing a quick kiss against his lips.

Derek’s eyes slowly opened, but he looked as miserable as Stiles felt. He almost looked wounded at the idea that Stiles was dressed. “You’re leaving,” he stated instead of asked.

“I promised Lydia we’d leave early,” Stiles explained as one of his hands traced the path of bite marks he left on Derek’s chest. Now that he could barely see them, he wished he had left more.

“Alright,” Derek agreed, nodding his head as he reclined on his elbow.

“I don’t regret last night,” Stiles stated. “Or this morning,” he smiled as he looked at Derek.

“Neither do I,” Derek confirmed as he looked back at Stiles.

Stiles continued to nod—he knew it was enough to make himself look like a bobble head, but he needed to. He had to nod to reassure himself that last night wasn’t stepping over the line, but was more than nothing. It was definitely something that had Stiles all tangled up.

Derek reached up, gently running a hand over Stiles’ cheek, as if to put his racing mind at ease. “You should get going,” his voice was sturdy and sure as he spoke.

Stiles stared into Derek’s eyes, and for the first time he saw everything he needed to. He didn’t have to hear Derek say it, because he could see it. _I love you, and I’m letting you go_ , he recalled his own words from last night. Without another word, he reached forward, his hand gently caressing Derek’s throat as he pressed in for a last kiss.

The kiss was everything they couldn’t say. It was full of promise, but heavily weighed with sorrow. As far as kisses went, Stiles knew he’d never forget it, no matter what happened. Derek had laid himself bare and let Stiles have everything—let him know everything. It was more than a kiss to both of them. It was _them_.

Stiles pulled back, biting his lip as he moved off of the bed. He kept his eyes shut as his hands slowly slid from the warmth of Derek’s. He made his way towards the loft door, his footsteps hesitating. He looked over his shoulder to take one last glance at Derek. He smiled, choking back a sob when he realized Derek had shifted into his wolf form.

Derek sat in the middle of the bed, watching Stiles as if he had waiting for him to look back. When he did, he lifted his head and released his howl. It was a last promise—a promise that he didn’t need the Calling to tell him who his wolf was chasing the whole time. As his howl subsided he looked back at Stiles and saw a faint smile grace his lips. It was the same smile he had given him in the Calling. The same smile that beckoned Derek to chase him.

Stiles forced himself to head towards the door, walking out of the loft, heading away from Derek. He brushed the stray tears away with the back of his hand as he tried to focus making his way to his Jeep without tripping over all the adrenaline.

Derek released a small whine before curling up on the bed. Whatever weight Derek had felt before, it was gone now. He released a huff of breath as he smiled while thinking about Stiles.

And just like that, with tears in his eyes, Derek let Stiles go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on a little Epilogue Chapter, so this isn't the COMPLETE ending.
> 
> Also, the Calling is something I spontaneously made up. It appears as a dream, whenever soulmates seek out one another. It happens randomly, sometimes in times of heightened stress. When one soulmate is hurt and needs comfort, they unknowing trigger the Calling.
> 
> So, when Stiles was younger--when Claudia became ill--he unknowingly initiated the Calling, trying to seek out his soulmate. Then he started to close himself off in high school, causing the Calling to subside. That is, until he started realizing his attraction towards Derek. Then after Derek rejected him, he unknowingly sought out comfort in the Calling. He just assumed the reason he was seeing the black wolf was because he was still hung up over Derek.


	7. Epilogue: Someday

It had been five years. Stiles managed to graduate grad school in one piece. With his Library Science degree in hand, he headed home to Beacon Hills. Getting a job was like clockwork, swooping in the minute he got home and scoring the librarianship at the public library. It made it better when Stiles realized he had free-range of the library’s archives, which held a bulk of the Hale family library that managed to survive the fire. A majority of the books were unprocessed, but still held more information on supernatural beings—especially werewolves—than Gerard’s entire bestiary.

Stiles had fought with the board that the Hale collection was worth restoring. He even convinced them that the collection was worth a dedication, in memory of the Hales and their tragic fate. Stiles likes to think the board agreed with him because he managed to charm them, but he knew it helped that Talia had an incredible relationship with the town council, and left her mark on the town itself.

Stiles had fidgeted throughout the entire dedication, and he was positive he was sweating through his suit jacket. He was glad Lydia let him opt out of the tie, knowing he was going to be sweating.

“Derek likes black,” Lydia called from her spot rummaging through Stiles’ closet.

“I’m not wearing a black shirt under my black suit,” Stiles argued as he walked back into the room, finishing the buttons on his pants.

“Fine,” Lydia sighed in a high pitch. “How about blue? You said you think blue is pretty.”

“Derek hates blue,” Stiles replied as his hands fidgeted until he crammed them in his pockets.

“So, you want to impress Derek,” Lydia stated with a smile as she pulled one of his dress shirts out of the closet, scrunching her nose before tossing it behind her. “You can’t wear any of these,” she commented as she moved over to the bags she brought with her.

“Lydia, it’s at 7. It’s 6 right now. I have to be there at 6:30 at the latest. Just give me a shirt!” Stiles complained.

“Oh, calm down. Would you rather be early to a dedication, or look fabulous when the crush of your life sees you again after a year?” Lydia calmly asked as she tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Ah, yes. This one,” she smiled, producing a crisp new dress shirt. “You look very attractive in red,” she commented as she held the shirt up to Stiles’ shoulders.

“Isn’t red a little, I don’t know, sexual for a work thing?” Stiles asked as he took the shirt from Lydia. His eyes widened when he saw the price tag. “Lydia! This thing is more money then I make in a month. I can’t wear this.” He immediately tried to hand the shirt back to her.

“Oh no you don’t,” Lydia held up her hand to stop him. “Think of it as a congratulations shirt for your first big work project.”

“Lyds,” Stiles started.

“No, none of that,” Lydia replied as she put her hands on her hips, tapping her heel. “Well? Are you going to get dressed so we can go, or am I leaving you behind?”

“Give me a second,” Stiles stated as he removed the tags, pulling on the shirt and buttoning it before undoing his pants to tuck the tails in. “Well,” he said as he grabbed his jacket, pulling it on. “I guess this is as good as it is going to get.”

“Honey, you look good,” Lydia stated, a smile plastered across her face when she saw her handiwork. She gently brushed her hands over the span of his shoulder, flattening out the jacket so it fit Stiles to a ‘t.’

And that was how Stiles found himself sweating through an expensive dress shirt, anxious to know if Derek showed or not. It had been over a year since he last heard from him. Beside the stray phone call or text and occasional hook-up whenever Stiles was home on break, (he blamed his weak resistance to tall, dark, and gorgeous men with amazing facial and chest hair) he hadn’t seen or talked to Derek since he informed him he was staying an extra year and a half in Massachusetts. More precisely, in Boston as he focused on getting his masters at Simmons. He chose the program of his dreams rather than coming home, and Stiles was certain Derek saw it as choosing a life without him. The pack threw a going away party for Derek when he announced that he was heading out to spend time with Cora. And Stiles definitely tried to convince himself that he didn’t throw himself at Derek that night for one last round of mind-numbing goodbye sex that completely ruined him for sex in general. He was seduced and betrayed by his own body and its desires. (He definitely hated himself for not being able to get that night out of his head. He was sure Derek did some things to him Stiles didn't know were possible).

Stiles groaned, placing his face in the palm of his hand. He begged Scott to make sure that Derek knew about the dedication. He had sent the invites to both Derek and Cora—he even sent one to Peter for him to know (despite being a colossal creep, he still deserved to know his family wasn’t forgotten).

“Good job, kiddo,” John’s voice greeted him as he clapped his hand down on Stiles’ shoulder.

“Thanks, dad,” Stiles replied with a small smile.

“It was a nice dedication. I’m sure Talia would have appreciated it,” his dad added as he handed champagne to Stiles.

“I hope so,” Stiles replied as he took the champagne. “They went all out with this. There are people here who make more standing around for an hour then I do hauling books to and from shelves for a year.”

“Talia was respected by a lot of people. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them were werewolves,” John used a hushed tone as he spoke.

Stiles smiled when he noticed a few people across the room look over at them. _Hit the nail on the head_ , he thought. “Have you seen Scott?” He asked as he turned to look at his dad.

“He’s helping Kira,” John replied. “I swear, she’s going to pop that kid out just from him stressing her.”

Stiles smiled as he patted his dad on the back. “He’s an Alpha, can you blame him? I hear first babies are a big deal for them. And it’s Scott,” he smiled. “He’s going to need me to de-childproof the house when he realizes that he can’t even open the cabinet doors now.”

“Just try not to stress Kira out more,” John sighed, picturing Stiles somehow breaking everything opposed to taking them apart carefully.

“Yes, sir,” Stiles replied. He spotted both Scott and Kira walking in, Scott holding Kira’s arm as he thoughtfully helped her into the room. He rolled his eyes when he saw Scott putting his hand out in front of Kira’s stomach to protect their child from being bumped into.

Stiles excused himself from his dad as he wandered over to Scott and Kira. “Hey,” he smiled as he popped up behind Scott. He was certain Scott almost shoved him before he realized who he was.

“Wow, Stiles, you look amazing,” Kira stated with a smile.

“Thanks. Lydia’s doing,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “But in more exciting news, how is my favorite goddaughter?” He looked at Kira’s stomach before placing his hands over the giant bump. “I can’t wait to teach you lacrosse,” he almost whispered into her stomach.

“She’s still attached to me, Stiles,” Kira stated as she arched her eyebrow. “And I don’t think I want her playing a sport that almost made her father attack people.”

“Hey, that was only one time,” Scott complained.

“When are you due?” Stiles asked, changing the subject, knowing Scott was about to get yelled at by his hormonal, pregnant wife.

“Last week,” Kira groaned. “I swear, she just wants to stay in there, like it’s a wolf den or something.”

“I want to give her that stuffed wolf I got her,” Stiles almost whined.

“The one you named Der-Bear?” Scott slightly laughed.

“Hey, if Derek can’t be here for her, at least she can have a consolation prize of something related to him,” Stiles argued as he placed his hands in his pockets.

“You didn’t tell him?” Kira asked as she looked at Scott, her hands placed below her stomach as she braced the weight of her daughter.

“Wasn’t supposed to,” Scott’s eyebrows were arched, telling Kira she spoiled something.

“Huh?” Stiles inquired, taking a sip of his champagne. “What?” He panicked when they both looked at him. “Oh God, am I not her godfather anymore?”

“No, no,” Scott and Kira said in unison.

“Okay,” Stiles drew out his annunciation, relieved but also suspicious. “Then what?”

“Well, we asked someone else to also be her godfather, since Lydia rejected the idea of ever being responsible for another human being,” Kira replied.

“Oh, that’s cool,” Stiles sincerely replied. “As long as I get first godfather privileges,” he joked.

“I don’t think he’ll argue with you,” Scott replied.

“Who is he?” Stiles questioned.

“It’s, uh, it’s Derek,” Scott stated as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Seriously?” Stiles asked. “But he isn’t even in the United States.” He observed Kira and Scott. “I mean, I’m not mad or anything. Really! I’m just surprised.”

“Well, we wanted to tell you—”

“Mr. Stilinski,” one of the board members called his name from across the room as she made her way over to him.

“Oh, good evening, Mrs. Robinson,” Stiles rolled his eyes to Scott and Kira before turning to look at her. “What can I do for you?”

“Darling, I wanted you to know that it was wonderful,” Mrs. Robinson stated as she took hold of his arm. “Beautiful speech you gave about Talia and her family. Moved everyone to tears.”

“I wanted to pay them my respects,” Stiles reassured her.

“Well, you did a wonderful job,” Mrs. Robinson reassured him. “There’s someone I want you to meet. Well, two people I want you to meet. May I steal you away?” She asked as she turned to look at Kira and Scott.

“Of course,” Scott replied with a smile.

“Oh, thank you,” Mrs. Robinson replied as she pulled Stiles off with her.

Stiles shot a glare back at Scott, knowing he did that to delay the conversation they were having. He let Mrs. Robinson moved him over to her group of friends, successfully making her emit her high pitch laugh, knowing he scored another donation to the library.

“Stiles, I don’t know how we would manage without you,” Mrs. Robinson stated as she wiped tears of laughter from her eyes.

“I take great pride in my job, so thank you,” Stiles replied.

“Of course,” Mrs. Robinson stated. “Now, here we are,” she announced as they came to stand in the circle of more than half the board and trustees.

Stiles felt his stomach flip and drop when he realized that this would determine how much more funding the library would get this year. _Time to put on the charm_ , he thought as he gave them his best charming smile. He nodded his head in recognition and shaking hands with them as Mrs. Robinson introduced them.

“And these two are Cora and Derek Hale,” Mrs. Robinson announced proudly.

Stiles nearly jumped when he finally noticed the two figures lingering towards the outside of the group belonged to none other than the Hale siblings. His jaw dropped as he gaped at Cora and Derek—but mostly Derek.

It had been more than a year since he saw him, but he was still as gorgeous as ever and Stiles hated him for it. He looked wonderful in his finely pressed suit, hands nonchalantly placed in his pockets. His body was turned towards Cora, as he looked at Mrs. Robinson before catching sight of Stiles. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before returning to their standard speckle of calm green. Stiles wanted to shoot himself in the foot when he noticed Derek was wearing a light yet electrifying blue that made his eyes pop even more. And of course Derek’s top button was undone, revealing the top of the chest hair Stiles loved feeling against his naked skin.

 _Don’t have impure thoughts. Don’t have impure thoughts_ , Stiles repeated when he realized his mind began to remember the last time they were together. He felt a wave of arousal wash through him when he noticed Derek’s eyes taking their time to scan him. _Thank you, God. Thank you for giving me Lydia Martin._

“Stiles,” Derek offered him a small smile, highlighting the laughing lines around his eyes.

“Derek,” Stiles’ voice nearly croaked. He knew the others were staring at them as they continue to hold each other’s gaze. But Stiles didn’t care. Considering that it was the first time he was seeing Derek in a long time and he wanted to jump him, Stiles thought he deserved a medal.

“Cora,” Cora stated, taking a sip of her champagne before she elbowed Derek. The look Derek gave Cora could have been seen as threatening, but Stiles saw the embarrassment flash across his face.

“Sorry, Cora. It’s good to see you again,” Stiles smiled as he turned to look at Cora.

“Oh, you know each other?” Mrs. Robinson asked. Something told Stiles that she knew that before bringing him over, and this was her attempt to get more gossip.

“I met Derek and Cora when I was finishing high school,” Stiles explained.

“Oh, I didn’t know they came back to Beacon Hills before. Derek, you never told me that,” Mrs. Robinson stated with a small frown.

Stiles turned his head to look at Derek, giving him a look that begged him to explain what the hell was going on.

“I came back to pay my respects to my family,” Derek explained. “I ended up staying longer when Cora joined me.”

“We’ve been in South America ever since we left,” Cora smiled before she gave Stiles a look that told him he better be ready for shit to hit the fan.

“What have you been doing in South America?” Mrs. Robinson asked, and Stiles noticed the rest of their group turn to look at Derek and Cora.

“Cora likes to tell those stories,” Derek stated as he moved towards Stiles’ side, avoiding the death glare Cora was giving him. “I’ll get us drinks,” he said, but sounded like ‘Stiles, follow me.’ That or Stiles was hearing things again, but he didn’t care because it was Derek Hale.

Stiles nodded as he added, “I’ll help you.” _I’ll help you? Help him with what? Carrying his drink?_ He wanted to punch himself as he followed Derek. He stood next to Derek as he ordered something from one of the busboys. He rocked back and forth on his heels as he watched Derek’s eyes scan the room.

“You did all this.”

“You came back.”

They both looked at each other the moment they realized they spoke at the same time.

“Uh, yeah, I did,” Stiles replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “I found that your mom’s will specified that if the books from the Hale library were somehow left ownerless, that they be donated to the archives here. I didn’t want them to stay down there, unprocessed. Seemed disrespectful, you know?”

“Thank you,” Derek stated as he looked at the floor. “Means a lot. For me and Cora,” he finally looked up at Stiles as he spoke.

“You’re welcome,” Stiles replied, the blush pushing up to his cheeks.

“And yes, I came back,” Derek explained.

“When?” Stiles asked, trying to stop his hands from fidgeting.

“Yesterday,” Derek admitted.

“Oh,” Stiles replied, looking down at the ground. “When are you leaving?”

“I’m staying,” Derek suddenly confessed. “Cora may go back, but I’m staying.”

“You are?” Stiles hopefully asked as he looked up at Derek.

“Yeah,” Derek replied.

“I guess we have a lot of catching up to do,” Stiles commented. “I mean, we are going to be godfathers together,” he lightly laughed.

“I’m surprised Kira hasn’t killed Scott,” Derek replied as he looked over at Scott doting over a sitting Kira who was glaring at Scott.

“I still have money riding on her maiming him in the delivery room,” Stiles mused as he sipped at his champagne.

“I could see that,” Derek slightly laughed.

“Want to make a friendly wager?” Stiles asked, placing his trembling hand into his pocket. His nerves were shot to hell, and he was sure he would spill what was left of his champagne. But he was determined to stay calm, even though he knew Derek could hear his heart hammering against his chest.

“Depends,” Derek replied. “What are the stakes?” He gave nothing away about how he felt, his face remaining ever unreadable.

“I bet Kira will slap Scott before she goes into the delivery room,” Stiles stated.

“And?” Derek questioned as he crossed his arms over his chest.

 _God damn him, he knows that displays his muscles. He knows he looks jumpable right now. Bastard_.

“ _And_ if I win,” Stiles took a small step forward, heart pounding away. “You owe me dinner.”

Derek kept eye contact with Stiles as he took the last small step between them, placing them almost chest-to-chest. “And if you lose, you owe _me_ dinner.”

“Deal,” Stiles smiled.

There was the sudden sound of a smack that resonated off the wall. Stiles and Derek turned away from one another to see Scott rubbing his cheek and Kira shying away from everyone's looks.

“I think … they just cheated,” Stiles commented in disbelief as Scott looked over at him and failed to give an innocent look.  _Is he seriously trying to act like he didn't even hear us?_

Derek laughed, before looking at Stiles. “So, are you hungry?”

Stiles turned to look at Derek, realizing that he was using the bet as an excuse.

“Starving,” Stiles smiled as he spoke. He tried to ignore the knowing eye Mrs. Robinson gave them when they excused themselves. He didn’t try to ignore the way Derek looked at him, and he didn’t bother trying to hide his smile.

 _Someday_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of feelings about this story and wanted to thank everyone who came along for the ride! Enjoy!
> 
>  **Update:** I love getting feedback and encouragement from you all! It makes my day when I hear how much you enjoy this story. And as of right now, there is a definite sequel being brainstormed as we speak!

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to join me on tumblr:
> 
> [drunklightning](http://drunklightning.tumblr.com) is my blog where I reblog anything I find of interest.
> 
> [dexterous-sinistrous](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com) is suited towards my ramblings about my writing, and NSFW. (It's where I serenade myself about Sterek). It's my trashcan of emotions. Feel free to stop by and say hi, criticize me, make incoherent noises with me, whatevs.
> 
> [Send](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com/ask) me any prompts you think you'd like to have me write!


End file.
